


To See The World And Not Turn Cold

by Cesare, helens78



Series: Hellfire (AU) [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Arguing, Chess, Fingerfucking, Frottage, M/M, Morning After, Sexual Tension, Team Dynamics, Training, exercise, licking come off the body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's first full day at the Xavier mansion is full of new experiences.  There's a tour of the grounds, weightlifting with a competitive streak, lunch with his new team, a lesson in flight, a confrontation after dinner, and a game of chess to wrap things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See The World And Not Turn Cold

Charles dresses ruefully. If he thought he was in for it before...

Erik's room has an en suite, so they've both dashed through the shower, but they could only tidy up so much without being too late for breakfast, and Raven has a sixth sense of her own for these things, besides.

Not that she'll need it. Charles can feel the mild sting of beard burn from Erik's stubble across his throat. There are probably traces of bites and scrapes starting to show as well, and there's no way to zip his shirt high enough to conceal it all.

He shaved before coming to Erik's room, so Erik isn't similarly marked, but the pink start of a bruise colors his neck just where the suppression collar rested before. Charles can't find it in himself to regret that, even if it does give them away.

It's not as though there's any reason to hide, really. He'll have to face Raven's approbation, and fair dues, he deserves whatever she lays on him. He did half promise he'd keep his distance. But he's not sure how he could possibly have resisted Erik's hectic, conflicted urges to get closer to Charles and to hold him at bay, and the mutual attraction that overcame it all. And then there was his muscled bare chest and open belt. Charles never had a chance.

He'll just have to explain to Raven... all right, he's not sure what he can say for himself. He can't define the draw Erik has for him. Charles has met other people with remarkable abilities, other people with a honed sense of purpose. Others he found attractive, and who wanted him.

He wonders what he would think of Erik if he hadn't read his mind, but every time he tries to imagine what life would be like without telepathy, he fails. It's like imagining the world without sunlight.

"It looks like you're going to be giving me some spectacular hickeys where the collar used to be," says Erik, peering at the looking glass on the wall. "I hope whoever you sent for clothes brings me some turtlenecks."

"I'm not really in the habit of leaving marks," Charles tells him. Erik glances at him and Charles has to concede, "I suppose you're right, though. I can't promise that won't happen again."

"I wouldn't want you to."

If he had to explain the effect Erik has on him, Charles might start with that. He can feel that Erik doesn't want to trust him, and yet already Erik's given Charles license with him in ways Charles has rarely been allowed even to discuss with anyone before.

"I'm not sure what they'll bring," says Charles, "I thought you'd favor dark clothes, but beyond that, no telling."

"With any luck, it'll be a different person shopping for me than the one who chose those things for you."

"Hm? Oh," Charles says, looking at himself, the brown velour zip-up he's had since his first year at university and a pair of his oldest and most worn-soft jeans. "Raven handed me these. I imagine she was only thinking they'd be comfortable. I still felt a bit off color when I woke up."

"Is that what she was thinking." It passes through Erik's mind that Raven chose Charles's oldest and ugliest clothes to put Erik off, with a momentary flattering thought that she'd have to do much worse to make Charles look unappealing. Quickly, though, Erik's focus returns to his goals, with a hint of pragmatism: if the people here are to be his allies, Erik wants no grudges getting in the way of the objective. Charles can't argue with the end sentiment, though the tension between Raven and Erik may become inconvenient if it goes on for too long. "This won't cause any more arguments between you?"

"It might, but it'll be between me and her," Charles says. "We've all learned to set everything else aside when there's work to be done."

Erik's skeptical, but he nods. As Charles moves toward the door, Erik swings it open; Charles is so busy being rather foolishly charmed-- Erik's abilities are so intriguing, and his ease with them is marvelous-- that he exits without paying attention and nearly collides with Darwin, heading toward Erik's door with a collection of shopping bags.

"Okaaaay," Darwin backpedals a few steps. He looks from Erik to Charles and back again. "I don't want to know," he says, "but I'll tell you what, those clothes I loaned you? You keep 'em."

Charles nearly protests that nothing scandalous happened to Darwin's clothes, but... they did do rather a lot of frottage on and around those jeans, now clinging low on Erik's hips.

"I found some stuff," Darwin goes on, lifting the bags. "Should've brought you guys some ice to drop down your pants. At least you got free jeans out of this."

Erik raises an eyebrow, and no wonder. Darwin's striving for humor, but there's something unhappy in his tone as well. "I'll see they're replaced," says Erik. "And thank you for--"

"No, really, done talking about it," says Darwin quickly, handing Erik the bags. "I'll see you, what, at the gym, the training course, something," he waves them off and rushes away down the hall.

"Something I should know about?" asks Erik.

"I'm not entirely sure myself," Charles admits. "I've promised not to listen in on his mind, his or anyone who stays here, as best I'm able." He turns to Erik squarely. "It's necessary at first, obviously, to make sure everyone who comes here can be trusted. But if you want me to stay out of your head from now on, I will."

Erik puts the bags inside the room and leans back against the doorjamb, considering him. "Is that selective? Could you stay out of my mind except when--" He glances meaningfully back at the bed.

It seems so incredible that Erik would allow that, would _welcome_ it. People who know about Charles's abilities always wonder what it would be like. Most love the idea that he can do exactly what they want without needing to ask.

After they've had it, though, if they come back for more, it's always with limits. Charles understands that. He can't help but understand it, they think about it loudly enough: it's too much, it's unnerving, it's not fair when it's all one way, when he can hear everything they think and they can only hear what he chooses to project.

Never mind that Charles's control isn't _that_ faultless, that he often loses himself in the connection of sex, sometimes betrays things he might like to hide. It's still _his_ ability, and while his control might occasionally slip, only he can control it. No matter how close he might feel to his partner in the moment, it's always his mind making the connection.

He'd expect Erik, of everyone he's ever slept with, of everyone he's ever _met_ , to insist on limits, privacy, or at least the polite pretense that Charles isn't listening.

But here they are.

"I can keep out until you... invite me in," he lingers on the innuendo and his silliness gets a hint of a smile out of Erik, a little victory. "It's a bit of an effort to block people thoroughly. I can drop it whenever you allow it."

Erik rests his hand on the slope of Charles's shoulder, fingers warm against Charles's neck, his thumb stroking over a tiny sore spot that must be a mark. "I'm staying here long enough to see this through, I think. If you'll all have me."

Charles covers his hand and squeezes it, feeling light with relief. "You're very welcome here. And when the others know about your search, I believe they'll agree with me that we should help you in any way we can."

"Thank you."

He hates to break the moment, but if Charles stands here any longer, he'll succumb to the temptation to kiss Erik again, and they really do have to make a start on the day.

"We should go down to breakfast," he says, "and then I'll show you around."

"Lead on."

*

Giving Erik a tour of the grounds turns out to be a bit nerve-wracking.

It becomes clear very quickly that Erik's eye for detail is pitiless. In the courtyard, he asks, "What if someone dropped down from above?"

"We have surveillance that notifies us of any planes or helicopters passing over our airspace."

"Even stealth planes? What about something without an engine? A glider. A parachutist directing himself here after dropping from a plane outside your range. Not to mention, a mutant who can fly."

"We'd detect them as well. But they could get close before we knew," Charles allows. "There's a sort of sensor bubble over the estate, but it only goes a few dozen yards above the highest point of the observation tower. We haven't taken many precautions against attack from other mutants."

"If I were you, I'd start." Erik turns to look at the sign over the entrance. "Xavier Institute...?"

"We put it out that it's a school," says Charles. "I fancy myself a visionary with a brand new style of pedagogy, based on my studies in evolutionary anthropology. Especially suited for students with behavior challenges, because I take an anthropological approach. Whatever that means. A very talented ghost writer produced quite a stack of pamphlets and literature on my revolutionary theories of human development. It's all glammed-up Montessori really, but it's been convincing enough so far."

"You don't just have a cover as a human, you're a public figure," Erik observes. "Dangerous."

"This place is too big to conceal. We can only disguise it."

"And I suppose anyone with suspicions soon finds themselves strangely incurious about what goes on here."

"Fortunately it's very easy to foster apathy," Charles agrees. "Sometimes I think it's the human mind's natural state. Depressing."

"Not really," says Erik. "It's not as if we have human minds. Their tendencies will go extinct when they do. And good riddance." He looks out through the gates. "I suppose all these woods around the mansion help hide the place from prying eyes, but it's a security risk."

"Wait'll you see the lake," Charles says. "You'll really hate that."

"There's a _lake?"_

*

By the midpoint of the tour, everything seen to except the sub-basements with the labs, the gym and the specialty rooms for training, Charles has a long list of notes for improvements and a bracing sense of just how patched-together some of their fortifications are.

He can't help his ego feeling tweaked as well. This is his place, he's responsible for it, and Erik seems to have found nothing but failings. And it can't be giving Erik much confidence in his new allies to find they've never considered what to do if someone should teleport into the house.

"You keep calling it 'the house,'" Erik notices. "You can't have lived here." They're in Charles's study now, and even without telepathy Charles can see how this room would look to Erik's eyes. Hand-carved wood, walls lined with books even though this _isn't_ the library, fireplace decorated with custom woodwork and tile, furniture older than Charles-- older than Charles and Erik put together.

It's a room that almost seems designed to impress visitors, make the owner seem smarter than he really is. Perhaps it was, once. But for Charles it's always been a place he could curl up in a chair and read or think or daydream, ever since he was small; making it his study happened gradually over his teenage years, and no one objected since there were so many other rooms to go around.

"I know. Now that there are so many of us, it seems surreal. But my family lived here, just the five of us," Charles says. "Well outnumbered by the staff."

"Five?"

"Raven and I, and my mother, stepfather, and stepbrother. Mum and Kurt passed ten years ago, and our stepbrother Cain is human. He found himself taken with the idea of living overseas."

"That seems like an unnecessary financial drain," Erik remarks, deceptively mild. "Your operating costs must be enormous."

"Xavier Institute accepts charitable donations," Charles says. "Tax deductible."

Erik eyes him. "And a good many people you meet feel compelled to reach for their checkbooks?"

"I can be very persuasive," Charles smiles.

Still taking in all the details of this room, Erik's eyes glance over the abandoned chess set in the corner. It's not really to Charles's taste-- he prefers classic Staunton pieces-- but Raven brought these back to him after a weekend trip to Italy, and they do remind him of her. Classic, elegant lines with a glossy multicolored wood forming the bulk of the pieces, and silver and gold accents. They were midway through a game when Raven lost interest in learning the art of strategy and moved on to something else, but Charles never bothered to put away the board, thinking it was something they might come back to.

When Erik turns to him, though, it's not the stilled game he gestures to, but the diplomas on the wall. "You really are a doctor."

"Why would I lie about that?" Charles asks, bemused.

"Why would you bother with it?" Erik returns. "Did you really need human credentials in, what was it?" He looks more closely. "Evolutionary anthropology?"

"It does make my position as founder of a school more plausible," says Charles. "And I was able to study genetics without making my interest too plain."

"Study? Don't your powers make that redundant?" Erik's tone is idle, unconcerned, but after this morning, the mention of Charles's telepathy seems to charge the room.

"I... I'm afraid I had to learn most of it the old-fashioned way," Charles says. "Otherwise whenever I wanted to do any research, I'd have to bring in a geneticist to read his mind. And I'd rather my accomplishments weren't limited to the scope of someone else's capabilities."

"Do I detect a bit of ego, Dr. Xavier?"

"More than a bit, depending who you ask. But," Charles indicates the estate with a sweep of his hand, "everything around us... it's nothing I earned. I inherited all this. I was born with my mutation. So yes, I do take pride in the," he exhales a little laugh of acknowledgement, "relatively few achievements I've acquired through my own efforts."

"You make it sound as though we can separate ourselves from the circumstances that produced us," Erik says.

Charles arches an eyebrow. "I think who we are is always more than what we started with and what we've lived through, yes. There's also what we choose to make of ourselves, what we choose to make of the future."

Erik's lips tighten for a moment, nearly into a smile. He eyes the chessboard again, and one of the black pieces moves-- a bishop slipping across the board to threaten a knight. "Darwin said something, earlier, about a gym and a training area. Perhaps we should make those our next stop."

Charles takes in the new positioning on the chessboard, not missing at all that Erik knew whose turn it was and what the best move to make would be. He smiles, but it's something to file away for later. "Yes, of course. Come with me."

*

People come and go at the Xavier mansion all the time. Darwin's only been here four months, and he knows there's a lot of stuff that's gone on that he has no idea about-- but Erik strikes him, already, as someone who's going to make some waves.

 _Wish he'd waited until he had his own damn pants before making them,_ Darwin thinks, curling his hands around the barbell and straightening to get it up off the squat rack. He can't feel his muscles bulking up to support the weight, which is good; it's a little bit past his limits, not enough to get the super-strength to engage, just enough to strengthen his baseline musculature.

Charles trusts the new guy, and Darwin's giving him the benefit of the doubt. He doubts Erik's lying about Genosha, and he knows Erik isn't lying about Hellfire, since that's where Charles found him. But the fact that he wasn't affected by the suppression collar-- if Darwin could have adapted to that fucking thing, he'd have busted out of Luma so much damn sooner.

 _Ten. Eleven. Twelve._ Darwin stands and sets the weight on the rack, exhaling and starting the rest timer on his watch. Better not to think about Luma, about all the things he _lost_ at Luma, though it's going to be harder to keep it off his mind if Charles is going to spend Erik's time here hanging all over the man. Not really Charles's style, not from what Darwin's seen, but who the hell knows. Meet the right person and all bets are off. He knows that too well.

Darwin's rest timer beeps, thank fuck; he does not need to get lost in his thoughts this way. He gets under the weight again and starts his second set of squats, and the focus it takes to keep his form steady without adapting to the weight gets his mind off everything else.

He hears Charles's voice midway through the set, but it's his _voice_ voice, along with his footsteps and somebody else's. Erik, probably, because it sounds like Charles is still giving him the tour.

"--and here we've got the weight room," Charles says, and he and Erik walk in as Darwin finishes his set and racks the weight. Darwin nods to both of them and grabs his towel, blotting the sweat off his face. "You're welcome to use it any time you'd like."

"Thank you," Erik murmurs. When Darwin's done toweling off, Erik nods to him. Darwin nods back.

"Which only leaves the rooms we've got set up for more specialized training. Back this way..."

As they head off again, Darwin starts a third set. Two down, three to go, and then he'll be on to something else. It's a lot of training, but it keeps his mind off the things he doesn't want to think about while getting him ready for whatever comes. All that aside, getting the chance to work on his baseline body instead of his mutation is still one of the things he likes best about being here; at the Xavier mansion, he's more than just a guy who can adapt.

When he's done with squats, he shifts the weights around and sets up for bench presses. He's got the bench pulled into position in the rack when he hears footsteps again, and he sits up on the bench to see Erik walking back into the weight room.

Erik's changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, both from Darwin's morning trip. Now that he's not in a turtleneck, Darwin can see a few dark red marks on Erik's neck. Yeah, that figures; this morning they were pink, and for all that he'd thought that maybe, maybe, they'd just been under the collar the whole time and he just hadn't spotted them last night, Darwin's betting not. And either he's not real ashamed of the marks, or he's showing them off on purpose-- but then again, what's the man going to work out in, that merino-cashmere turtleneck from earlier?

If Charles had wanted him to stay covered up, though, he'd have come up with something for Erik. A towel around his neck, a track jacket zipped all the way up. But no; instead he's got a pretty damn public claim stamped all over Erik's neck. Charles must be out of his mind for this guy. _After all of, ooh, twelve, fourteen hours? Hope you know what you're doing, Charles._

If Erik catches the way Darwin's noticing his hickeys, he doesn't remark on it. Instead, he asks, "Need a spotter?"

"Not necessarily-- if the weight's too much, I'll adapt to get stronger. But I'll take one if you're offering."

Erik nods and comes around to the opposite side of the weights, out of the way but close enough to take some pressure off the weights if he's needed. Darwin settles down on the bench, gets his grip right, and starts in on his first set.

Twelve presses later he's sitting up again, stretching out his neck and hitting the button for his rest timer. He looks over his shoulder at Erik. "So what brings you to the gym? Just felt like a workout?"

"It seemed like a pleasant enough idea. I'm not disturbing you?"

Darwin shakes his head. "Not at all. Pleasant, though-- thank God, it won't just be me, then." Darwin cracks a smile. "Charles and Angel, you pretty much have to drag them in here kicking and screaming, and Raven kind of comes and go as she pleases."

"I'm still adjusting to the 'she' in that sentence. Charles mentioned she's his sister, but I haven't seen her in any form other than the one she wore last night."

Darwin scratches at the back of his neck. Raven, well-- that's a whole kettle of fish he's not getting into. Let her sort out whatever it is she's got against Erik with the man directly; Darwin has played middleman for conflicts at the mansion before, but he's not dumb enough to step in between a tiger and... whatever the hell sums up Erik.

"You'll see her again at lunch," he says. "We usually take lunch as a team, catch up on what's going on with our operations. If you're sticking around for a while, I'm sure Charles is going to want you in on that."

Erik glances away. Darwin contemplates asking just where Charles went off to, but no, _hell_ no, whether Charles ran screaming when Erik said he wanted to work out or had some kind of teleconference or needed to check in with Raven or whatever, he is not going to sit here talking to Erik about Charles. Not the way they were looking at each other this morning. There's rubbing salt in an open wound, and then there's tearing a half-healed wound open so you can brine it. There are things beyond what Darwin really feels like making himself adapt to.

"Of course," Erik says, and then Darwin's rest timer goes off, and he's down for another set.

There's no way to have easy, gentle small talk with a guy who's just gotten out of where Erik's been; Darwin thinks silence is probably more comfortable right now. Let Erik set the pace, let him bring up whatever he wants to bring up. Darwin doesn't need to have all the silences filled with random chit-chat to be comfortable around somebody.

Calling the silence he's got going with Erik "comfortable" might be pushing it, though. Erik's tense, and Darwin glances up at him after his second set. "You want to work in here? I can help you get set up." He nods at the cage next to his.

Erik eyes it, and for the first time today-- well, the first time since his bedroom door swung open, and Charles stepped out, looking like the cat who got the canary-- he smiles. "I think I can handle setup."

It's on the tip of Darwin's tongue to say _oh, yeah?_ , but then Erik gestures, hand out as if in invitation. The Olympic bar on the cage next door lifts off its rack, and Erik moves the rack into position to do squats; a second later, he moves the safety bars off the rack entirely, leaving them on the ground. He pulls plates off the plate tree and slips them onto the bar, then adds the clips to the ends, and by the time he's through, Darwin's grinning ear-to-ear.

"Nice," he says. "Telekinesis?"

"A little more directed," Erik says. "Metal." He lifts the barbell off the rack and spins it around in the air, and he lets out a soft groan like he's finally getting to stretch out a muscle that's been going unused for way too long.

Darwin laughs. "Can you juggle?"

Erik shoots him a grin, one that's all teeth. It's a surprisingly good look on him, and Darwin has to grudgingly admit that, if you go for that type, it'd be hard to resist the guy. Apparently Charles already made that observation, but no, still not going to think about it. "I was just contemplating juggling earlier today, as it turns out," Erik says. "I don't see why not; should I give it a try?"

"Hell, yes, bring it on."

Erik pulls three small plates off the tree and narrows his eyes at them, putting both hands down low at his sides like he's going to juggle physically, not just with his power. All three plates hover for a few seconds, and then he flings one up into the air, following it with a second, and then a third.

It really is juggling; Darwin laughs, delighted by the display, but then his watch starts beeping. It looks like it's hurting Erik's concentration a little; the plates start wobbling, shooting forward, and then he's lost them-- one of them goes clanging off a wall.

Erik looks a little chagrined, but Darwin just shakes his head. "That was pretty great, man, well done."

"Apparently I need to understand the basics of juggling a little better," Erik says. He scoops up the plates and sends them back to the rack.

Darwin laughs. "Maybe so, but that's pretty good from where I'm sitting."

"I might have to practice." Erik gives Darwin one last smile, and then he seems to get serious all over, turning back to Darwin's barbell. "Another set? I believe your timer went off."

"Yeah, yeah--" Darwin lies down on the bench again, puts his hands on the bar, and then raises an eyebrow at Erik. "You don't actually need to _touch_ the bar to spot me, do you?"

Erik smiles. "No."

"So are you competitive at all? I notice you've got about twenty more pounds than me racked, but we could still race for it."

Another hint of a smile comes over Erik's face. "I'm in."

*

They're both sweating and winded from the exertion by the time they're through, and Darwin has to stop after a dozen sets' worth of different lifts. His body's worn out; any more lifting and he'll be adapting for super-strength instead of gaining direct benefit from the weights. He keeps an eye on Erik as Erik finishes out his workout-- the guy won't need a spot, but no reason to abandon him-- and he cleans up his own equipment while he's waiting.

He fetches a towel out of the cupboard and tosses it to Erik, who scrubs at his face and his hair and the back of his neck. "Thank you," he says. He's still a little winded. "That was useful."

"Yeah, it was fun. I'm in here every other day or so; you should join me. I could use the motivation."

Erik nods. "I'll do that. For as long as I'm here, at least."

Darwin raises his eyebrows. "Are you going somewhere?"

Erik shrugs. He follows Darwin's lead on cleanup, putting the weight plates away with his power-- man, that'd be convenient-- and wiping down the equipment with a clean towel. "I've never been one for long-term planning. There's something I need to do, and Charles implied I might find help here. After that..." He shrugs again. "I expect I'll move on."

Darwin nods. He's not going to say _You don't have to_ ; it's not really his call, certainly not his call alone. He's more interested in what Charles has promised Erik. Charles really hasn't seemed like the type to get led around by the dick, but then he hasn't gotten caught leaving a new recruit's room early in the morning with the new guy covered in hickeys, either. Whatever this thing Erik needs help with is, Darwin hopes Charles has better reasons for agreeing to it than Erik being good-looking and, presumably, good in bed.

"Well, how about for now we move on to showers and then the kitchen. You can help me get set up for lunch."

Erik nods. "Yes, all right-- I remember where the kitchen is. I'll see you there."

"See you."

Darwin watches Erik go and sighs. Hopefully lunch will go half as well as the workout; hopefully they'll get some more answers out of Erik then.

*

Darwin assembles sandwich materials for six, with help from Erik; he sets Erik to work on chopping up romaine and other assorted vegetables for salad. It's not actually Darwin's turn for this, but Paula, on kitchen duty, is busy cleaning up after feeding the kids and it's no big deal to handle it themselves.

He also thinks it might be better to keep Erik occupied. Some people need space and some time to themselves when they first come here, but Erik seems like the kind of guy who'd rather be doing something. Thank God, the guy is back in the high-necked shirt for lunch, so Raven won't be getting an eyeful of those marks.

Darwin's not at all surprised that Erik can handle a knife, any kind of knife, a chef's knife, like it's a part of him. When he's finished, he cleans the knife and runs a thumb down the edge; he narrows his eyes slightly and runs his thumb down the edge again, this time nodding, satisfied.

"Not sharp enough?"

"It is now."

"Nice." Darwin grins. "Not just lifting heavy objects, huh? Lots of applications."

Erik nods, although the "lifting heavy objects" part comes in handy when they get things onto trays; Erik can handle three on his own and get the door, besides. Darwin leads him out to the back patio, to a table with a view of the pool, with the basketball court off to the right.

A lot of the back field and the start of the woods surrounding the property are visible, too, and while Darwin's had time to get used to it, he can tell Erik hasn't. He shakes his head lightly and arranges plates around the table while Darwin runs back in for a pitcher of iced tea and a couple two-liters of soda.

By the time he's back, Erik's got his poker face on again; he takes a seat at one end of the table and looks out at the deep swaying grasses of the back field, one elbow propped on the edge of the table, chin on his hand.

A couple minutes later, Darwin spots Angel heading over, walking down the path from the south greenhouse, a flower in her hair. Once Angel's at the table and has a salad assembled, Hank comes up from the opposite direction-- lab, then, no surprise there. Hank glances at Erik and sits down at the other end of the table from him, not really selling it as a casual move.

Charles and Raven are the last to arrive, Charles talking animatedly, which is typical; Raven usually has to drag Charles away from work in order to get him to eat anything. He's in the top half of a suit but still in ratty jeans, must have had a video call.

Raven's back to her usual baseline-human camouflage, pretty, long blonde hair, and Darwin notices Erik's slight raised eyebrows and even slighter head-tilt as he takes in her everyday appearance. He wonders if Erik knows she's really blue under that pale-peach complexion. Maybe not yet, or maybe he just hasn't seen it yet; it could be a while before she trusts him enough to show him that.

As Charles and Raven approach the table, Charles finally looks up. He lights up when he notices Erik-- it stops him mid-sentence, and Raven's eyes narrow as Charles heads directly for the open chair beside Erik. "How was the workout?" he asks.

"Good," Erik says. "You should join us next time."

Raven snorts as she comes around to the other side of the table, dropping into the seat next to Hank. It puts her across the table from Charles, not right at his side-- not that they've got assigned seating or anything, but Darwin can't help thinking back to his observation that Erik's going to end up making waves. Changing up the seating plan is barely a ripple, but they're starting to add up.

Charles gives Raven a guilty look and turns back to Erik. "I'm afraid I tend to let that sort of thing slip away from me if I'm not reminded."

"Repeatedly reminded," Raven says; when Erik looks at her, she smiles, and it would almost look sweet if not for those still-narrowed eyes.

But it's not enough to keep Erik's attention off Charles for long. "I'll remind you," Erik promises.

"Will you," Charles murmurs.

The look on Charles's face makes Darwin flinch and shake his head, and he'd be kicking himself mentally for letting that slip if it weren't for Raven muttering "Jesus _Christ,"_ which makes Charles sit up straight and clear his throat.

"So. I take it you've seen nearly everything by now..."

"Yes, although this is new." Erik nods toward the swimming pool, the basketball court. "A basketball court when there were just the five of you?"

Raven's expression gets that much tighter, and Darwin can guess why. Plenty of people stay here for months and never know that Charles and Raven grew up here.

"Ah. No," Charles admits. "Originally it was a tennis court; there was a motion to reclaim the space for something more of our residents might enjoy..."

"Not to mention the team-building aspect," Angel points out. "Tennis is pretty much one-on-one or two-on-two, a little more about direct competition. We can change up basketball teams more easily, they're more ad hoc."

Charles nods in acknowledgement. "Which is a solid point, although I did prefer tennis."

"So you have construction crews coming and going here; that must be complicated." Erik arches an eyebrow.

"Actually, we've been lucky about that; the changeover was courtesy of one of our temporary guests, who had the ability to change substances from one element to another." Charles's gaze goes a little faraway; he's not looking at the basketball court anymore. "Guiding him through that... his power was remarkable."

There's nothing in Erik's expression, nothing at all, but he goes a little quiet as he says, "And where is he now?"

Darwin steps in at that. "He moved on to another cell. We don't have contact information on people who leave; it's safer for everybody."

 _I expect I'll move on,_ Darwin remembers Erik saying, and although Charles glances at Erik, Erik isn't looking back at him. Yeah, Darwin's not touching that whole thing with a ten-foot pole.

"We're probably one of the most secure safehouses around," Angel adds. "Not that there's any way to be totally sure, but they started sending us the kids a few years ago."

Erik's eyes snap to her the minute she mentions kids, and shit, there's no way he didn't know, he doesn't look _that_ surprised, but even Angel seems rattled for a split-second by that look. It doesn't last-- Angel's never rattled for long, bless her-- and she keeps going. "I mean, we hope there are a lot more busted out than the ones we have, but realistically… well." Erik nods, almost imperceptibly.

 _Eight years at Genosha_ , Darwin wonders. Probably not recent years. If Darwin's guessing right, Genosha would have been a hell of a place to grow up.

"Anyway," says Angel, "there's twelve here, from six to seventeen."

"Do all of you teach?" Erik gestures around the table. "I presume they do manage an education here."

"They do, yes," Charles says, "but no, we're not the primary teaching staff. The five of us are the ones with abilities and-- temperaments, I suppose-- most suitable for offense."

"Offense?"

"Stealth and infiltration missions," Charles explains.

"Like the one that got you out of Hellfire," Angel adds.

"There are a number of other adults whose gifts don't lend themselves to that sort of endeavor, and those who can, care for the children."

Erik sits back, nodding. He glances over at Charles. "Twelve children," he says quietly. "I didn't realize there were so many. I think perhaps some of the things we talked about might be best acted on sooner, rather than later."

"I've every intention, yes," Charles says, a little piqued, but it's fleeting. He pauses and reaches out, his fingers brushing the back of Erik's wrist. "We're lucky to have the benefit of your eye to check our defenses."

Another grimace from Raven, which Charles misses because he's so busy making eyes at Erik. Times like this make Darwin pretty confident that Charles is telling the truth when he promises that he blocks out their minds unless he's invited to share. He couldn't possibly be this socially tone-deaf if he knew what they were thinking.

Darwin stabs at a piece of tomato and shoves salad into his mouth; fuck if he's going to watch that. Angel reaches over and gives his shoulder a squeeze, and he looks at her and nods; out of everybody here, she's the only one he's really talked to about it. _I'm fine_ , he mouths, shaking his head, and she nods, sitting back in her chair.

Over at the other end of the table, Hank clears his throat. Erik glances over at him, and Hank stands his ground-- _good going, boy, steady as she goes_ , Darwin thinks. "So, ah, Mr. Lehnsherr, is that-- is that what you did before you--" He catches himself, coughs a little, "ah, before? Were you in security? Defense research?"

Erik drums his fingertips on the table for a second, and he gives Hank a look that's trying to be a smile; it's not reaching his eyes, though, so seeing it turn up on just the lower half of his face is a little creepy. "No, I'm afraid my expertise comes from repeated escape attempts at various facilities. Some successful, some not."

The silence is awkward enough Darwin's seriously thinking of changing the subject to, God knows, ice capades or dance lessons, but Charles steps in before it comes to that. "What's important is what Erik brings to us now."

"Which is?" Raven bites out.

"Yeah, I know it's not actually coin tosses," Angel says, smiling at Erik.

This time Erik's smile is a little more sincere. "Try me."

Darwin has to brush his hand over his face to cover a smile. Metal, yeah, of course he can rig a coin toss. Charles has the same grin on his face, but Angel gamely digs a quarter out of her pocket and holds it up. "Will this work?"

"Absolutely."

"Call it," she says, and she flips it into the air.

"Heads."

She catches it, and it lands heads, of course. "Nice. Do it again?"

Erik nods. The coin goes up a second time, Erik calls heads again, and of course he's right about it. Angel's laughing; she's watching him pretty closely, trying to work it out. "Okay. Make it come up tails this time."

It does, and she nods again. She peers at him, head tilted. "How about edge? Can you make it land on the edge?"

Erik shifts his shoulders, crosses his arms over his chest. "Go ahead."

She flips the coin again, and this time doesn't reach out to catch it. It lands on the table, directly on its edge, not even wobbling.

"Okay, you're either telekinetic or..." Angel glances across the table, and before anyone can react, she's got a cherry tomato in hand and is lobbing it at Erik's head. Erik ducks, and the tomato goes flying past, but Angel's shaking her head. "Nope. Not telekinetic. So is it inorganic material in general, or are you some kind of super-magnet?"

Charles is beaming at Angel like she's his prize student, and Erik glances over at Charles, one unguarded little smile flickering over his face before he sobers and nods at Angel. "More or less the latter. I can control metal-- move it, change its shape, that sort of thing."

"Neat."

"More than neat," Hank pipes up. His whole face is lit with excitement, and Darwin has to resist the urge to duck under the table, because Erik's expression is quickly going from "sober" to "thundercloud". If Hank's even noticed, it isn't slowing him down. "How far does that control go? Molecular? Subatomic? Can you control electromagnetic fields?"

Erik looks at Charles, who's shifting a little uncomfortably-- yeah, Charles can see what that look means. Charles's eyebrows draw together in sympathy, which makes Erik turn right back to Hank.

"The earliest experiments involved testing my limits for maximum capacity rather than minimum, and when I was-- older," Erik says, "we-- _I--_ there were certain tests for control at a microscopic level. I've gotten better at that since. Nothing subatomic, not that I've tried so far, and as for controlling magnetic fields, yes, it's within my abilities, but it's never been something I was asked to focus on."

Even Hank's starting to get the idea that maybe he shouldn't be poking this particular bear, but he can't quite shut himself up yet. "If you had a handle on that-- the applications are stupendous, think of what we could do with Cerebro--"

"Hank," Charles says, and Raven reaches under the table. Hank stops talking and goes red. Darwin rubs at his eyes; everybody at this table's getting some except him. Fantastic.

"What's Cerebro?" Erik asks.

"We'll talk about it later." Charles holds up a hand. "I'm not trying to put you off. It's complicated, so it'll take a bit of time to explain. We'll get to that tomorrow."

"Great, that'll give me time to do some workups," Hank says, and then he squeaks again, and Raven beams at him. He looks down at his sandwich and gulps.

Erik's still looking at Charles, but he's not pressing the issue. With the silence at the table getting thick again, Angel clears her throat. "So magnetic fields, huh? Do you fly? We had a girl come through who could generate heat, she learned to use it to fly."

This is a safer topic, apparently, because Erik kind of uncoils. He gets a little less tense, a few steps away from whatever edge he was on. He ends up smiling again. "I've never managed actual flight. I've done fairly well at stopping myself from more disastrous falls, depending on what I'm wearing. I've experimented with guided falls when I'm in riding leathers; they tend to have a number of zippers, studs, snaps, enough metal to give myself some direction without tearing the zippers or buckles out of the leather."

"Now that I'd like to see," Charles says, and Erik's eyes slide over him, a smirk crossing his face. Charles gives him another one of those heated looks, but says, "I meant the _flight."_

"I'm sure."

"We've got a training room underground that's great for flying," Angel says, interrupting, which thank God for that. Darwin looks at her with more than a little love.

Erik blinks, seeming surprised. "I didn't look too closely at the training rooms; I hadn't imagined they were that large."

"We've expanded them over time," says Charles. "Sometimes accidentally..."

Darwin laughs. "Yeah, well, fortunately the house foundation's pretty damn stable, or one of us was there to prop things up so we could wrangle in a quick fix before things got scary."

"And there's Julie," Angel adds. "She's one of our noncombatants. She can sense structural integrity, so she's helped a lot when it comes to rebuilding this place for our very special needs."

"I've noticed some of the reinforcements," Erik says.

Charles nods. "We keep lists of the resources available to us, everyone's various talents and our material assets. I should go over that with you as well, see if you spot things we've missed. And you'll need to know as well so that we can plan for our encounter."

 _Encounter_ , Darwin thinks, sitting back. That's what he's been waiting for; from the looks on everyone else's faces, they've been waiting, too. He looks sideways at Erik.

 _Okay, buddy. Why are you here?_

*

The energy at the table changes as soon as Charles finally quits screwing around and gets serious.

Raven keeps her hand firmly pressing down on Hank's thigh. Groping him is a nice side effect of that move, but she's more concerned about his nervous energy; he got keyed up over the new guy's powers, and if she didn't lever down on him he'd vibrate himself right out of his chair. The last thing this group needs right now is more tension.

"Erik has brought something important to our attention that I hope you'll agree we need to deal with," Charles says. "A man named Sebastian Shaw. He's been collecting mutants to experiment on us privately for years. The same kind of humans who sanction places like Stryker's, Genosha, and Luma… they removed Shaw from his position at Genosha because even they thought he went too far."

Hank and Darwin both look sick at that, and Raven strokes Hank's leg under the table, palms his knee.

"Since then he's been operating on his own," Charles goes on. "He gets mutants out of places like Hellfire. Sometimes he tells them he's freeing them to help other mutants, to fight against humans."

"He poses as us," Angel realizes, twisting her napkin into knots. "As resistance."

"Yes," says Charles. "But if they're not useful to him, he gets what he wants out of them and he kills them."

All the scary shit Raven's been picking up from Erik: it's this, she sees now. His eyes glitter, everything about him sharp and focused as the point of a knife as he says, "Shaw will be in Manhattan in two weeks. I've been looking for him for nine years now; this is as close as I've ever gotten."

Darwin looks like he's about to adapt into something explosive. "I've run into guys like that before. Whatever needs doing, I'm in."

Angel says, "If they're not useful to him, he kills them. If they are useful to him, that means he's got mutants on his side?"

"There have been a few I know about for certain," Erik says. "Some have gone missing, so I can't be sure they're still a part of his entourage. Others are apparently still in contact with him."

"I learned last night of three," Charles tells them. "Janos Quested. He can create and control whirlwinds. He still believes Shaw is doing everything with the eventual goal of overthrowing the humans when the time is right, so we may be able to win him over." Because of course even when he's planning a tactical strike, Charles is thinking first about conversion. "There's a teleporter who seems to call himself Azazel. And a telepath-- which might explain why I've never felt Shaw or his associates with Cerebro. She may have been blocking me."

Hank pipes up, "Or if this Shaw's sourced enough vallinium, he might have been able to make anti-psionic gear." He puts on his adorable genius-at-work face. "But if it is another telepath, then some augmentations to Cerebro might let you detect the block. I have some ideas."

"Cerebro again," Erik says.

She can feel Hank twitch a little-- he really doesn't want to attract this guy's attention, but he's too excited not to explain at least a little. "Cerebro extends Charles's range. A couple of times he's managed to reach across most of North America."

"Let's not exaggerate to show off for company," Charles gives Hank a little smile to show he's mostly teasing. "But Cerebro is a fantastic device, Hank's own invention. It's been invaluable. We're very fortunate to have found him."

Of course, Erik barely glances at Hank, too impressed by Charles, staring.

Raven snorts. Yeah, yeah, big ol' brain, get over it.

Charles steals a glance back at Erik, lips twitching, and Raven fights down another frown. She doesn't need her body-reading skills to see that those two have 'totally did it, _again'_ written all over them, it's way too apparent. But the vibe between them isn't just obnoxious and too obvious; it's off, somehow.

It's hard to pin down, even for her, because there really is-- ughh, she hates to admit it, but-- actual chemistry going on there, but there's something weird about the interplay, like they're exaggerating it a little, testing each other. Sizing up to see who'll get a grip on who. And that is the last kind of shit Charles needs to be getting into, seriously. They've come a long way from the bad old days.

"If you have ideas, Hank, then yes, detecting other telepaths would be useful. But don't push yourself all night on it," Charles cautions. "I want all of you taking care of yourselves for the next two weeks."

Raven almost laughs in Charles's face, he's such a fucking hypocrite. But she's being a good partner in crime, she holds it all in as he continues, "If we're to face Shaw we'll need to be on form. He not only has mutants on his side, Shaw is a mutant himself. He can absorb kinetic force and redirect it. And he's been using the other mutants he captures to increase his own abilities."

And that's her debate club nerd of a brother, saving that for last as the clincher to his argument. It's a hell of a closer.

"It'll be difficult," Charles says. "And it will be dangerous. We don't have much time to prepare. We might be able to find another cell that can handle this; it doesn't necessarily have to fall to us. But if you're willing, I believe we can stop this man, two weeks from today, together."

"I'm in," says Angel, dropping her shredded napkin on the table.

Darwin nods. "Don't even need to ask."

"He increases his power through other mutants?" Hank questions. "How?" Raven nudges him, goosing his thigh again, and he looks at her with surprise, catching on a second later. "Oh. And I agree, yes, obviously, we have to stop him."

"Me too," says Raven.

Charles smiles around the table at them. "Thank you," he says. It's times like this that Raven remembers how much she really loves him no matter how much he pisses her off, because she can see in every little aspect of his face and body language that Charles really means it all. He really thinks they can do this, and he really is grateful they believe him.

Sobering, Charles says, "Erik has a lot to tell us about Shaw. We'll begin pooling our information first thing tomorrow to plan our strike. Spend today clearing the decks so we can devote all our time to this. I want everyone keeping up your training, but also rested. Hank. Rested."

Darwin aims a friendly smirk at Hank. "That doesn't mean triple-espresso-style-rested, either."

"I'll be out of the lab by midnight," Hank swears.

Raven doesn't add that she'll make sure. Somebody has to set a good example of discretion around here.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Charles says to Erik, "but I think you'd welcome a chance to work on your abilities?" Erik tips his head and nods, and Charles says, carefully not looking at anyone in particular, "So a session in one of the training rooms might seem to be in order."

Oh, he had fucking better not cue Raven to volunteer to work with this guy, but if nobody else steps forward, he probably will. She waits for that little mental tap he gives, and gets ready to project a really gross memory of a dead roadkill possum back at him. She made him throw up with that one, the first time she thought it at him.

"I can make some time," Angel smiles at Erik. "What do you think, want to try flying?"

"That may be ambitious," says Erik. "But I'd like to try out one of the rooms, yes."

"Wonderful." Charles turns to Angel. "How is everyone getting along?"

"We're in good shape," Angel says. "We're doing a big pediatrician visit next week, should I talk to Suhail about rescheduling for later?"

"Let me think about it. Is there anything I need to know from your side, Raven?" Charles asks.

"Everything's under control with the school and the estate, we just have the usual maintenance to deal with. If we're going to be occupied for the next two weeks, we need to get out in front of some of that. If you've got that list of security improvements I can start ordering supplies."

"Excellent," Charles gives her his pocket notebook, his proper boarding-school penmanship filling page after page. "I imagine you have a yard-long list for me, let's make a start on that. And let's plan on dinner for the six of us in the sun room, usual time; see you all then?"

There's a general murmur of agreement, everyone getting up and collecting dishes and trash. Erik rests a hand on Charles's shoulder before he goes, and Charles smiles after him.

Raven stifles a groan. Yeah, they're going to have to talk about that.

*

"So," Raven says as they go into Charles's office, pulling the door shut behind her, "you're a huge lying liar, and you already slept with him again."

When threatened with righteous anger, the wild Charles Xavier takes refuge in pointless niceties. "Thank you," he says, "for not bringing this up at lunch."

"Thank you for keeping your promise to me-- oh wait, you _didn't."_

Charles sinks into his task chair, folding his hands on the desk. "I didn't promise, I said I didn't intend to, which was true at the time."

"Weak," she pronounces, hopping up onto the desk. "Very weak. You know, whatever, it's your life, but you're making it really hard for me to trust him."

He gives her a look. "I don't know what more assurance I can give you than _reading his mind."_

"Uh-huh. You guys went tooling around the estate this morning and he noticed six pages of security holes, and those are the ones he's telling us about," says Raven. "This guy Shaw you say he's been tracking for years? Has a telepath on his side. Someone like that hasn't given any thought to how to fool a telepath?"

"I can tell when someone's trying to manipulate me."

"You _think."_ God, it's so frustrating trying to get Charles to see his telepathy can cut both ways. When he looks into people, he sees them the way they see themselves, and people tend to be pretty fucking deluded. Charles can usually keep it in perspective. But not always.

"If he's capable of what you're worried about, then we have much bigger problems than whether or not I sleep with him. If someone who can fool me has made it into this house then all of us are already in terrible danger-- and not just us but the other cells as well," Charles logics at her, apparently trying to wear her down with boredom. "You were watching him; did you catch him lying?"

"No," Raven has to admit. "But anyone who can fool a telepath can probably control their body language too."

"Probably. But we can only go by what we know for now. I've read his mind and I believe him. You've kept an eye out and you haven't caught him lying. I trust him enough to fight on his side."

"I hope you're right," she says. "But with the rest of you joining his fan club, someone's going to have to stay on their toes. I guess it's going to be me."

"You'd think if anything, distrusting him would have you encouraging me to sleep with him," says Charles, with studied coolness. "You know what it does to people's defenses."

Like she wants to flash back to _that_ fantastic time of their lives. "I do know," she says. "Including yours." She comes around the chair to hang over the back and hug him. "I just want you to be careful. We _need_ you to be careful."

"I know."

"And tone it the fuck down a little," she tells him. "At least give everybody a chance to pretend like they don't know what's going on."

"What did I do?" he asks blithely, and he totally means it, it's terrible.

She rests her hand on the side of his head and projects to him, «Take a look,» and lets him skim her surface memories of lunch.

"--Oh," Charles says, pink spreading across his cheeks and the freckly bridge of his nose.

Raven noogies him a little. "You're a dope," she says. "Knock it off. Now pull up Quicken, let's look at the accounts."

*

On the "nickel tour" of the estate, Charles breezed Erik through the training rooms, but Erik became too caught up in sensing all the complex machinery in the floors and walls to really appreciate the size of them.

Now, as Angel leads him into one, he makes an effort to stop puzzling out what's behind the veneer and really see the space in front of him: steel alloy walls, metal grate floor, upholstered ceiling. It's cavernous.

"This is the second biggest room," says Angel, and reacting to his raised eyebrows, she grins, "I know! But yeah, the one at the very end is the biggest. This one's better for flying, though, because of this--" she reaches for a control panel on the wall, but stops abruptly. "Sorry, I should ask first, are you okay with enclosed spaces?"

The question itself causes a flare of self-protection; he's got his awareness dug deep into the floors and the machinery before he has a chance to breathe. _She's asking. She's asking and you're here in this place, in their hands._ Extending a little trust seems reasonable enough-- if only because there's so little other choice in the matter-- but Erik clenches and unclenches his hands anyway, digging through the walls and floors and machinery for the likeliest place to tug and pull if he needs to be out of this place in a hurry. "How enclosed?"

"To show you how this room works I'd have to shut the door."

The door isn't very intimidating; it's nearly a foot of thick steel with a heavy-duty pneumatic closer, but it's nothing Erik can't push through. He nods. "It's fine."

"Okay. Take a look at the panel. Press here, that opens the door. And these two buttons close it," she presses them, and the door to the room shuts and seals. "And just so you can see for yourself that it works..." she presses, and the door unseals and slides aside again. "Okay?"

"You must have had a lot of new people come through this place to develop these routines," Erik observes. He noticed throughout the earlier tour that Charles never closed doors or blocked the path out of any room. At the time he chalked it up to telepathy; he doesn't believe for a moment that Charles is really keeping out of his head. But apparently they're simply practiced at this, here.

"You only have to have somebody explode on you once to learn that lesson," says Angel, sealing the room again. She catches his eye and reassures him, "It's okay, exploding was her ability. She was fine. So, what do you think? Do you want to try flying?"

It's not much guidance for something he's never done before. Falling, he could manage, but flying is going to take some practice. _Lessons,_ he thinks, and he reminds himself that not all his memories of lessons are bad ones. _Weren't you learning how to juggle just this morning?_

He takes a breath, gears up as best he can, but he can't bring himself to throw his body and his power at these walls entirely undirected. "Maybe you should show me how it's done."

"You don't have to ask me twice. I love this room." Angel takes off her pullover, revealing a halter top underneath and the spidery black lines of a large tattoo on her pale brown skin, covering her upper arms and shoulders.

Then the lines peel up and flesh out, growing substantial, forming and stretching into wings. Hearing about her wings is one thing, seeing them unfurl is amazing.

Angel puts her pullover in a recessed shelf near the door. "Basically, there are gigantic fans under here," she taps the toe of her boot on the grate. "Strong enough to almost be like antigravity. It's pretty safe. The ceiling has padding, and you actually kind of have to make an effort to hit the floor with the fans going, so it's just the walls you need to watch for, really."

"They might be tricky," he admits, not really thinking before he says it, but she giggles at him. Her laugh is disarming, and he tilts his head. "For _me_ they might be tricky," he elaborates. "If I'm pushing or pulling too hard, it'd be easy to punch through. They're reinforced, but not in the same way the ceiling is, for overhead stability, or the floor, because it's actually on solid surface."

"Oh, I gotcha. No, relax, it'll be fine. Start off in the center, you won't get blown too far."

 _Blown._ It's definitely not how he'll be moving if he manages this on his own; looking from grate to grate under his feet as he steps into the center of the room, Erik thinks back on what it's been like guiding himself into controlled falls. He's never been high enough for air currents to redirect his angle, for which he's grateful; he doesn't have falling down to _that_ much of an art form. "This is so different from doing it under one's own power; is it really a useful way to learn?"

"The idea is, it gives you a boost when you're starting. Plus it helps you get comfortable in the air," Angel explains. "You can learn how to move while flying, how to deal with wind and air currents, separate from learning to use your power to fly. Then you can bring them together once you're confident with both sides of it." She smiles. "Charles is really into the idea of, you know, baby steps."

Erik can't help a double-take at that. _Charles_ and _taking things slowly_ couldn't be more opposed in his mind. "Funny; the way I've been dealing with him to this point, I assumed he'd simply pitch me out a window and see if it worked." He frowns, afterward; it wasn't meant to cast aspersions, but... well. Leave it to stand as it is, get an honest reaction from someone who came to Charles under similar circumstances to his own. Staples in her wings when she got out of Hellfire; if even a person with Erik's advantages found it hard not to cling to Charles, what about someone whose collar was actually active?

But the amusement and fondness on her face isn't the shared-secret sort of smile Erik might have expected from someone who's had Charles in her bed, someone who knows full well that Erik's been sleeping with Charles-- last night, he confirmed it directly, and over lunch he made no attempt to pretend it isn't still happening.

He can't hide what he is, where he came from; everyone already knows that much. Scoping out their expectations for him seemed useful at the time, although no one really appeared to have any reaction to him beyond the adjustments necessary to settle a new mutant into their little sanctuary. Being close to Charles and enjoying his presence-- it's a bonus and a distraction, a benefit to being here and a cost. He's already looking forward to dinner, and isn't letting himself think about why.

Angel's still laughing over Erik's comment regarding Charles and windows, though, and she shakes her head. "Charles? No way. I mean, he wants everyone to push themselves, but a little at a time, you know?" In a confidential tone she adds, "It can be frustrating. Sometimes he's kind of patronizing, but if you ping him about it, he'll back off."

"I suppose it's different when-- I suppose it was different for you." Erik's going to hammer that button just a little harder; is he really getting something different out of Charles than the rest of them, than the other Hellfire refugees, or is everyone working together to maintain Charles's façade?

 _Maybe they all came here the way I did, and none of them remember._ There comes a point when worrying about things is useless; yes, everyone on the grounds could be a puppet, everything leading back to Charles, but if that's the case, Erik has more to worry about than whether Charles has been mindwiping people so they don't recall having sex with him. "There's been nothing slow about my introduction to this place. One minute I was working toward getting my hands on Shaw, the next... here I am."

"I guess it would have to be different," says Angel frankly. "You brought a deadline with you."

Deadlines-- that's where their differences lie? It's not an answer, not the one he was looking for, but he's starting to realize he's not going to get those answers out of her. He nods once, acknowledging the truth of her statement and letting the push-pull of this topic fade away.

"Well, in here, we can go as fast or as slow as you want," she tells him. "The grate's metal, the walls are metal: do you want to try pushing yourself up with your power first?"

He looks around the room one more time, really feeling the surfaces, imagining what it would be like to fall towards them. It's a strange way to think of his power; it seems so intangible compared to the uses he's always put it to. Logically, he can see how, since it's not hard for him to push metal away from him, it should be easy enough to push himself away from metal, and off the ground. In practice, though, the idea sits with him uneasily. "I'll try," he says, all the same.

"Okay. I'm not sure how it works, with what you can do. My friend with the heat powers, she pictured using her power to create a cushion of hot air under her. For her it was easier to be horizontal when she flew, you know, more surface area. I'm not sure if that would change anything for you." Angel's wings flip restlessly, and she lifts off her feet and into the air.

Erik gets down on the floor, almost in a runner's starting position, one knee bent under him, the other leg extended out straight; both hands to his sides, palms down, fingers spread wide. He feels for the grating, like catching a thousand tiny cells or lying on a bed of nails, and it's that last image that does it: he presses down hard, and he wobbles, but he's _lighter._

He focuses on the floor, on the way it feels to have his weight pulling him downward, and then on what it'll take to get off the ground. He's lifted more than his body weight more times than he can count, and this is the same principle, just a different form of execution. He can _do this._ He presses harder, imagining the effort it takes to lift his body weight in iron, and matches it, and at that, he comes up a little more.

From above, Angel claps her hands encouragingly, but she doesn't try to speak to him, which he appreciates; this is taking all his concentration.

For a few moments he's up, and then it all falls to hell; his front leg's brace is off, and it shoots out behind him, and he loses his balance and falls onto the floor, drawing together just enough magnetism to cushion the fall so he doesn't come down very hard.

Angel lights beside him, as easy in the air as on her feet. "You okay? That was some nice height, couple of feet up at least."

"I'm fine. But I think I'm going to try it stretched out this time."

"It seems like if you're using magnetism, your orientation in the air shouldn't make a difference," Angel says thoughtfully. "But I guess I don't know. And there's some psychology to it too, probably."

"Stability on the ground is a very different thing from stability when lifted, it seems." Erik stretches flat on his stomach on the ground, as if preparing to physically do a push-up.

"Are you okay with being touched?" Angel takes to the air again, her wings faintly, almost musically buzzing. "I could grab your shirt if you fall to soften the landing, but I don't want to get into your space if it'll bug you."

Erik shakes his head. "No, I'm all right for now. Let's go again." He concentrates, trying until his whole body quakes with the effort. He gets an inch off the ground, and then another, he's rising... but his face is hot, sweat coming down off his temples. Finally there's nothing else for it; he lets himself down very carefully, panting.

Angel lets him recover briefly before suggesting, "We could try the fans. You might have more luck using your power to direct yourself once you're in the air if you're not trying to get yourself up there at the same time."

"All right, yes, let's-- a moment, though, I'm just going to--" Erik strips out of his shirt and puts it in the recessed shelf alongside Angel's pullover.

Out of sight, out of mind-- it's not until he turns around again that he thinks about what he's showing off, what she's seeing now. All his marks above the waist are visible, the rapidly-healing ones from humans at Hellfire, the fresh ones Charles decorated him with just this morning, and all his scars, the ones from years of being helpless and in human hands. Or, in Shaw's case, what he originally thought were human hands. The fact that everyone here finds the idea of mutants preying on and experimenting on other mutants to be abhorrent is comforting, although Hank McCoy still seems more interested in laboratories and testing than sits easily with Erik.

To her credit, not only does Angel not react with horror, she doesn't stare. Her eyebrows don't draw together as if to provide condolences, and the absence of all that lifts a slight weight off Erik's chest. He supposes if Angel was at Hellfire herself, she must know how little he wants to deal with the pressure of well-intended sympathy for his time there.

"All right. The floor, then?"

"Yeah. Hey, the switch is metal," Angel smiles. "That's cool, you'll be able to control it from anywhere in the room." She's so easy in the air that she doesn't bother to touch down, just flies to the control panel and hovers to point it out. "It's this one. This is actually really fun, with the fans on. Even if you never end up flying under your own power, it's nice to feel what it's like."

Erik gets a feel for the switch-- steel alloy, like all the fixtures in here. "All right, I think this is as ready as I'm likely to get," he admits, rubbing his neck. He realizes belatedly that he's thumbing a pleasantly sore spot, one of the bruises Charles left. Pain has always been an excellent focus for him, something to help him channel his power, but the memories associated with this pain in particular are liable to leave him embarrassed if he uses _them_ for focus. He drops his hand, and flips the switch.

The fans begin to spin under the grate, blowing air up relentlessly, rapidly increasing in speed and force. It's not an abrupt shove, it's more a gradually increasing push upward, a gust of strong wind that never lets up. It just blasts harder still, and it really is powerful enough to lift Erik whether he wants to rise or not. Before he knows it he's off the ground and quickly headed for the ceiling.

He's not controlling himself at all, unacceptable; he yanks at the floor to give himself a little bit of a counterbalance, but that flips him in midair, his back to the fans, and he's looking up at the ceiling as it looms closer still, despite all his pulling and pushing.

Flying nearby, amazingly stable in the tempest, Angel yells, "Holler if you need a hand!"

"I'd-- just-- hit the-- wall, then--" Erik grunts. Stretching his arms wide, he angles his hands down, pulling harder at the floor, and there it is: he's got himself airborne and more or less under control. His feet are still kicking and his hips are twisting, he can't seem to stop instinctively seeking purchase, and it doesn't feel like flying, exactly. But it's still interesting on its own terms. He's even more aware than before of the metal surfaces that line the room, how his power responds to them.

Streaking past him, Angel dives and rolls. "Looking good!" she calls to him.

Erik manages to turn himself in the air deliberately, which loses him his hold on the floor. He grabs for it once he's reoriented and then spins himself around in a circle, arms shaking from the effort, legs quickly draining of energy as well. He's a little startled by how good it all feels, but how _difficult_ it is, too.

"Shutting it down-- in five-- four," he counts it down, dragging himself down to the floor with what feels like the last of his strength. "Three, two-- one!" He hits the switch, landing easily on his feet, but panting hard and sweating more than slightly.

Angel swoops to land beside him. "Looked like you were moving under your own power once you were up!"

"That's overly generous," Erik exhales heavily, running both hands through his hair. "I'll need a great deal more practice if this is going to go anywhere at all."

"These rooms are always open," Angel tells him. "Even if you don't end up having a lot of luck with flying, it's good exercise, learning how to move with the currents. It's kind of like swimming, you know? You can work out without putting as much stress on your body as running or weights or whatever." She smiles. "Guess I'm biased though. Obviously, _I_ love it. Darwin teases me 'cause I hate the gym, but why would I go there when I could be in here?"

Erik envies her a little, the time she's spent in this place, able-- encouraged-- to use her abilities however she sees fit. There really is a possibility he'll learn to do this, as absurd as it seemed at first-- but of course it seemed that way, given how he grew up. Flying isn't something he was ever encouraged to do in Genosha, and he doubts very much that mutants whose abilities explicitly enable flight were given any help with it, either. Even here in an enclosed space, underground and hidden, flying has a sense of freedom to it.

But Angel wasn't always here, either. Up close, he can see the gleaming surface of her wings, marred with little asymmetrical knots of scar tissue here and there. She might not have started out at Hellfire herself. He's been making a lot of assumptions about the people here. It's going to run him into trouble if he keeps it up-- and it's a hell of a way to repay her for a pleasant afternoon.

"With your gifts, it does make sense, yes," he says, and drags the back of his wrist across his forehead, knocking off more sweat. "I think I'll head back and clean up; I'm sure I'll come here again. Thank you for your help."

"Any time. Don't forget your shirt," Angel grins at him, taking to the air. "Can you hit the switch for me again once you're out?"

Outside the door, his shirt draped around his shoulders, Erik reaches for the shape of the switch through the wall, finds it, and flips it. Through the door he can feel the vibrations of movement as Angel soars through the air; the steel resonates with her voice as she pulls off a steep dive and whoops out loud.

He's smiling a little when he walks away.

*

"C'mon, Charles," Raven pops her head into the office, "dinner."

"Already?" he asks, looking up to see her rolling her eyes.

"You say that every time."

Charles stands, only then realizing how long he's been sitting: too long. He surveys his to-do list. Web orders and phone calls to suppliers, renewing the health care plan that covers all the students, a call to the school's accountant, checking for coded messages in various email accounts-- the trend toward random, bizarre phrases in spam emails has been one of the luckiest breaks the resistance has ever had, when it comes to surreptitious communication.

And then there are the continuous tasks, his senses stretched to the borders of the estate, blinding himself to the thoughts of those inside but unable to quite tune out the feelings: unrest between two of the teenagers that he pinged Julie to look into, a nightmare during naptime for Gabe, who is possibly a bit too young for horror movies.

"Here," Raven's at his side, holding out painkillers and a glass of water.

He takes his hands off his temples, swishes the pills down with a sigh. "Thanks."

"You'll feel better when you eat," she says, and he nods and follows her out.

"I hope you had a better day."

"Nope," Raven says. "When I was on hold with the fencing company I looked up Sebastian Shaw, and I really wish I hadn't." She takes his hand and tips her head, projecting to him.

Even read cold off the page as Raven encountered it, the man's litany of offenses makes Charles recoil. He's sickened all over again, thinking of Erik in this man's hands.

"Yeah," says Raven. "We need to end this guy." She darts a look at him. "You're not going to try any of your take-him-alive stuff on this one, are you? Because I don't know if you've noticed, but your new pal Erik is out for blood."

"Shaw himself... I'll leave him to Erik, that's not for me to decide," Charles says. "Any others, yes, as usual we'll aim to incapacitate and capture if possible."

"Are we getting any help? What's the chatter?"

"No one's available within state lines." And they've lost two people to border checks in the last three months. Two that Charles knows about. "And the chatter included round five hundred ninety-eight of Don't Tell Xavier That, He Already Knows Too Much."

"Fun!"

"Yes. But we're still on for tomorrow night. Though if they waste another meeting arguing about whether or not we should be using Cerebro to enable the meeting--"

"Oh, what? You'll ask them nicely not to?" Raven jabs as they climb the stairs.

"Probably," Charles admits.

"What did they say about going after Shaw? I mean, if it was up to some of them, you wouldn't ever leave the house."

"I won't be kept prisoner to my supposed indispensability," says Charles, too sharply. "If they contend that my talents are singular, then they also have to admit that there are things outside those gates that only I can do."

Raven bumps shoulders with him. "You don't have to convince me."

"Anyway, it can't just be me. They must have another telepath," Charles says. "I'm more convinced than ever, now that I know there's one working with Shaw; I've never sensed her. I don't understand, though. If there are other free telepaths out there, how have _they_ not found _me?_ I can't shield all the time, or even often. For what I do, I have to broadcast. And if they're particularly sensitive to mutants, like I am, then this place would light up for them like a beacon."

"Which is hopefully one of the things we're going to fix," says Raven. "But I ran some numbers, and if we add this distortion field in, we're really going to be pushing the generator to the limit."

Charles rubs his brow. "Cross that bridge when we come to it," he says finally. "Do you think I should cancel the pediatrician visit?"

"Nah, we can keep a lid on things for a couple of hours," Raven says. "And he's a sympathizer, right?"

"Of course." Charles laughs bleakly. "Last time we visited his office, someone had spray-painted 'Race Traitor' on the door."

"Well, it's a good sign for us, anyway," Raven answers, and they go into the sun room together to join the rest.

*

Charles is a bit tired and preoccupied during dinner. Normally the team doesn't trouble to eat together in the evenings, but when a new person is on the grounds, they become the welcoming committee by necessity, as they're also the first line of defense.

Even so, dinner is a much more relaxed meal, and no one objects when Charles drifts, pinging Hector and conducting a brief mental meeting about the civics textbooks, trying to mediate the ongoing argument between Hector and Paula over whether to censor the anti-mutant material in the last three chapters. The best Charles can do there is getting Hector to agree not to white out any passages yet. They'll have to put it to a vote eventually.

He comes back to himself and picks at dessert, sneaking a look at Erik. Multitasking is helping him to avoid staging the kind of spectacle he apparently made of himself earlier in the day, but Charles doesn't want to turn a cold shoulder. For his part, Erik is all but unreadable, looking as if all the talk around him is in a foreign language.

Even though he's long since finished eating, Erik remains at the table, possibly unsure whether it would be all right to excuse himself. With the keen awareness Erik has displayed, Charles is sure he can't have missed that at least one of them has been keeping tabs on him since he arrived, and that he hasn't met any of the others yet.

It's a difficult balance between making new people welcome, and keeping their current residents safe. Even with the mental screening Charles does, sometimes people are unpredictable in a different environment. And Erik has been more unpredictable than most.

"I think I'll get some air," Charles throws out during an opportune pause, and looks to Erik, trying to keep his expression unobjectionable. "We should plan for tomorrow."

No one seems to take undue note, or at least they're pretending not to, as Charles leads Erik out onto the balcony. It's a little muggy out, damp warm air, but fresh after all day cooped up in the house, reading messages from far-off conspirators who've never met him, arguing that he should lock the doors and never leave.

"Why the 'sun room', at night?" Erik asks, scanning the treeline.

"We had a good view of the moonrise tonight." Charles leans back, elbows parked on the wrought iron railings.

Erik stands next to him, facing him, gripping the rail and bracing his arms out straight. "That's worth making someone carry all the food up four flights of stairs?"

"There's a service elevator," Charles tells him, and at the half-scornful look that gets, he adds, "I know, ludicrous. What can I say; the house has been in the family for ages and keeping it up was a point of pride. I'd like to think if my father were alive, he'd be glad we're really putting it to use now."

"Twelve children," Erik says. "And how many adults?"

"Twenty, now, with you here."

Erik shakes his head, glancing back through the wall of windows at the other four still chatting around the table. "All that talking. It's like something out of a movie or a novel. I'm not used to this much frivolous conversation." He reacts to Charles's frown with, "It isn't a problem for strategy meetings. It's fine if it's functional. This just seems," he shrugs. "Unreal."

"It's the functional conversations that try my patience," Charles confides. "Sometimes I'm a bit tempted to just put everything they need to know straight into their heads and go from there, instead of bogging down explaining it all."

Erik nods. "I'm sure it's faster." He's so pragmatic; Charles knew he would understand.

"So much faster. When it's time-critical I can just," Charles tries to express it with a gesture, miming a presentation of a great deal of intelligence at once, "push all the information out to them. But they tell me it's jarring. So… talking it is, for the most part."

"Jarring," Erik tilts his head. "Is it."

"I'm afraid a few times I've staggered Hank trying to save a little time."

"The temptation's probably worse when you're already tired," says Erik. "Dealing with a headache, maybe."

Charles hums his agreement, catching on only a moment later that Erik's whole affect has changed, in a way that makes Charles suddenly aware that he's well within Erik's striking range, and trusting his weight to metal bars behind him.

Erik meets Charles's eyes. His voice is very, very even, very quiet, and Charles wonders, with a chill, how many-- how _few_ \-- people have heard Erik use that tone more than once. "Let's just say I'd be curious," Erik says, "what you thought was critically important to share about me last night. Though I'll give Angel credit for this; she's discreet."

Just as at Hellfire, Charles would be a fool not to count the danger. There's a slight possibility that Erik could seize the metal around them and knock Charles unconscious or even kill him before Charles could take him over.

Slight. Very slight. Using Erik's power through him has only made Charles that much more attuned to it; he can feel now that Erik has some sort of grip on the iron railings. Charles doesn't move away. It would only be that much more dangerous to show weakness.

"That's quite a deductive leap," Charles nods, conceding the point. "You're right. I gave her a few of the facts to assure her that I believed it was safe to host you. Angel shares responsibility for our security here."

"And your 'facts' about the fucktoy you brought home were perfectly objective and suitable for the minds of total strangers, I'm sure," Erik seethes.

"You've heard my thoughts," Charles says as calmly as he can, "last night, this morning, the same as I heard yours; you know I don't think anything of the kind about you."

"It's not about what _you_ think," Erik snaps. "I opened up to you deliberately; maybe you took more than I wanted you to have, but doing that was my decision. Offering that up to other people-- you might as well tell them to get in line to fuck me."

Even without reading his mind, Charles can't miss that Erik keeps referring to sex in disparaging, painful terms. What seemed at the time to forge a connection may have been a terrible decision after all. Charles of all people really shouldn't make that kind of mistake, but Raven sometimes accuses him of looking into people and only seeing what he wants to see.

"I should've let you tell them yourself. I am sorry," says Charles. The concession just seems to make Erik's face darken further, and Charles hardens his own words; there's only so far he'll let himself be pushed. "But there was time for you to speak for yourself in the car, and you barely gave your name. We're taking a risk as well, bringing you here. I can't ask them to accept something like that blindly. And if we're to help you, they'll need to know."

"There are _limits,"_ Erik leans closer, words low and tense. "Do they need to know how many people fucked me at Hellfire? How many hurt me? Do they need to know how much I got off on it, so they can tell me to go fuck myself and know in exacting detail exactly how I'll do it? Do they need to know that when the nightmares come, I put anything metal away and I jam things shut as best I can, and still I wake up with dressers tipped over and nightstands broken from the inside? Do they need to know that?" He looks away. "For pity's sake, Charles, the fact that you're accustomed to knowing every last minute detail of everyone's lives doesn't mean that everyone needs that, that everyone _wants_ that, and I sure as _hell_ don't want to share more than I damned well have to in order to survive."

"I know you're not inclined to trust my judgement," Charles fights to keep steady in the face of all that anger and accusation, "but that's not--" and what does it matter now? Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

«Here, this is what I gave Angel,» he pushes it all out to Erik, the exact subset of information Charles sent Angel the night before: Erik is looking for a criminal named Sebastian Shaw; a few bare facts of Shaw's experimentation at Genosha; evidence that suggests that Shaw is likely abducting mutants and continuing his experiments even now; everything Charles got about Shaw at Hellfire and from Janos; Charles's conviction that they need to help Erik find Shaw and stop him.

Erik barely flinches as it hits him, but afterward he blinks rapidly, as if he were just hit with a bright light.

"You always do that, don't you," he scowls. "Use your mind like that, use your powers so easily. You never stop."

It seemed so different this morning, but it's always the same. Charles replies evenly, "I'd be dead if I didn't. Can you stop sensing metal?"

That, at least, gets through, Erik's brows lifting. "I-- no."

Charles turns his hand to gesture the connection. "Well."

"It's not that simple. People's minds aren't like metal." Erik looks away from him, setting his jaw. "Never mind. I'm sure people have been telling you all your life, but you'll figure it out someday, and you won't enjoy it."

Charles certainly doesn't enjoy being told he doesn't understand something, but no matter how tempted he is, he's promised not to read Erik without invitation, and if Erik's lost trust in him, it's especially important to honor that vow.

"We have fourteen days and an address," he says instead. "We should rest tonight. Meet early to review the resources we have at hand. Seven?"

"Fine," Erik clips out, and goes.

*

He runs.

The mansion's big enough, the grounds so expansive, that one lap around them is enough to push Erik out of his own thoughts, slow the swirling anger and draw him back into his own body.

He doesn't come back in after one, though; he goes for two, and then five, and by the time he makes it to seven he's drenched in sweat, his emotions a dull burn instead of a flare. The need for revenge never goes away, not when he's drained from exertion, not when he's exhausted from physical satisfaction, but right now it's muted, dug down deep into the core of his being where it's been providing his motivation and determination all these years.

The soft ache of disappointment is worse, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. All that talk of taking a step at a time, all the effort to trust-- all for nothing. He knew, he _knew_ Charles could take whatever he wanted, steal the secrets out of Erik's mind, drain him of everything that formed him and shaped him... even use it against him, if the opportunity arose and it seemed necessary. And he'd been ready for that, he'd thought. But to know that all of it, all of _Erik_ , can be so casually passed on to someone else, _anyone_ else--

Erik can't imagine what it must be like to be Charles Xavier; to have no concept of secrets or privacy, to know immediately when someone's lying to him or to themselves. It leaves everyone around him vulnerable-- and yet everyone seems to trust him. Maybe they've all reached the same conclusion as he did, this morning: suspicion is wasted on Charles, his powers are too great to ever truly prepare for.

The memory of having that thought solidify for him floods back to his body as easily as it does to his mind: Charles on top of him, mouth open to Erik's, tongue demanding and teasing all at once, Charles's cock hard against his thigh, hot even through two layers of thick denim. Knowing it could all be a lie that Charles was teaching him to tell himself-- and then the relief of pushing that suspicion aside, recognizing that in the face of that much power, trust was as much an inevitability as it was a necessity, and being _so damned glad_ the decision was out of his hands, because he wanted to, _wanted_ to trust-- if Erik's still angry about anything, it's about how badly he wanted to believe Charles.

He remembers the warmth and giddiness he felt from inviting Charles in, showing Charles what it's like to see metal on such a tiny, delicate scale, _sharing_ with him; deep down, he wants it again, wants it _now_ , even as his mind reels back from the idea, _not safe, you'll never be sure of him_.

He stops his current lap in front of the front gates, walks up to them and presses his palms against the wrought-iron. The gates are easily twelve feet high, the wall itself brick but heavily reinforced. There are no trees within fifty yards of the wall, not on this side of the house. A ladder would quickly render the wall moot, but where Erik came from, walls like these were meant to keep people inside, not keep outsiders away. Almost reflexively, he pushes _outward_ , feels the stretch and strain of the iron and how easily it would move for him, if he truly wanted that.

"The access code is 1372-5906," a voice says, just behind him: Angel. He glances back, and she nods at a panel at the left side of the gate. "You don't need it to get out, of course, if you're in a car the pressure plates will open the gate for you automatically, and if you wanted to take out a bike or one of the Vespas or just go out on foot, you can just hit the big green button. The gates close up automatically behind you. But when you want to come back, the access code is 1372-5906." She walks up to meet him at the gate, leans one shoulder against the brick beside it. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Would I be permitted to?" _Responsible for security_ , he thinks, looking at her with new eyes. He can't shake the conviction that she knows more about him than he wants her to, in spite of Charles's attempt at reassurance and the instant-replay of the thoughts Charles pressed into Angel's mind last night.

But she treated him like a person all day long, through lunch and the flight lessons and dinner, and even now, if she's here to keep an eye on him, she's not making demands or presenting him with orders. And whatever she knows about him, he doesn't see pity or disgust in her eyes.

"I'll be honest," she says, "I'd be a lot happier about you taking off if you took one of us with you. Me or Darwin if you want. You mentioned riding leathers earlier-- well, Darwin's got a sexy new Ducati he's been dying to take out for a ride. If you know how to ride yourself, you could borrow his old Yamaha, and you guys are about the same height, I bet it wouldn't need any adjusting."

"If you're worried I'd reveal something about this place, you don't need to." He turns, taking his hands off the gate, and looks back at the mansion. "There are few enough places like this as it is. If you're safe here--" and he of all people knows how fragile that safety is, with all the flaws and holes in the security he spotted today-- "then I'd never do anything to strip that safety from you."

"Thank you." She nods at him. "The same goes for us. All of us. We want you to feel safe here."

 _All of us_ , Erik thinks. "Charles mentioned our conversation this evening."

She inclines her head just a little, confirming it. "He wanted us all on the same page. And I don't know if it'll help, but he was telling you the truth about what he shared with me. I got a lot of information about Shaw, and a little bit about the fact that you've been looking for Shaw for a long time, but he didn't give me anything personal about you."

It does help, a little. It helps hearing her say it; it helps more that she understands his need to hear it. "Thank you."

"I know you don't know my story-- and maybe you can take that as another sign of goodwill, huh?-- but like I told you before, I was in Hellfire for a while, too." Her lips turn down, and he's tempted to tell her to stop, that he doesn't need to hear this, but anything any of them are willing to share with him is helpful for a thousand different reasons. He's not going to cut off an opportunity to learn something. "Everybody always said my wings were so pretty, ever since I was a little girl. I was a fairy princess, or a butterfly, or somebody's little... Angel." She snorts. "When they started talking about mutant zoos, in the eighties, I was terrified. And when I ended up in Hellfire, I thought, well, here's their mutant zoo-- they collected all the pretty ones, you know?"

He knows. He was there; he saw a lot of people with beautiful mutations being treated like animals, like objects only good for satisfying human desires and perversions. He heard _damn, you're pretty_ himself on more than one occasion, but he also saw the disappointment in people's eyes when it turned out his mutation wasn't physical at all. A few of them asked what he could do with the collar off, and his cover story that he could make coins turn up anything he liked earned him the nickname _Lucky_. Sometimes they'd bring out coins when he told them about that least little sliver of his gift; sometimes they'd slip the metal between his lips and tell him to suck it while they fucked him. _You feel lucky now? You feel lucky with my dick in your ass?_

He shakes the memory off, and she's quiet while he does it. When he looks back up at her, she goes on.

"I was planning on busting my way out when Charles showed up. I think I could've done it, and at first I was _so_ not into the idea of trusting a pretty white boy whose mutation could be kept in the closet forever, you know what I mean?" Oh yes, he knows what she means. "But he has a thing about solidarity and hope, and... that was what got me. I knew if I got out I'd be hiding for the rest of my life. Running. And he told me he could take me somewhere I could fly."

"He always knows what to offer," Erik says quietly. "For me it was Shaw."

"If we're lucky, two weeks from now Shaw's going to be a done deal." Angel looks him right in the eyes. "What then?"

"Then I move on." Erik can't hold that gaze; it's too much. He looks back at the mansion. "It's a beautiful place. Incredible that you've managed to do all you have with it. But I don't belong here."

She takes that in with a nod. "Nobody's going to twist your arm to stay. But there's a lot to take advantage of while you're here. If you get to know us a little better, you'll see-- we're not going to let you down."

"I'd like to think not." Erik closes his eyes for a moment; it's unfair, he knows, to have the people who've taken him in be the ones who have to constantly prove themselves. Maybe Charles was right to speed things along; Erik would probably have taken weeks to open up that much around so many powerful people he doesn't know, and they don't have weeks. If they're all going to be working together to bring Shaw down, the trust really does need to go both ways. And Erik's not enough of a fool to leave here when allies are going out of their way to volunteer their aid.

He looks back at Angel; there's one thing he wants to know, _needs_ to know, but he's not sure he can even bring himself to ask. She's been through enough, and she's been nothing but kind to him.

And maybe she can see it in his eyes, because she stretches out a hand and takes his in hers, light, easy, giving him every chance to pull away. When he doesn't, she squeezes his fingers; her hand is strong, as strong as anyone he's ever known. He's not surprised.

"Ask," she says, very softly. "I know you need to."

"What he expects out of you," Erik says-- there's no way to be delicate about the question, but he'll try. He'll try. "Is it different, based on where he found you?"

"He never _expected_ anything out of me--"

Erik shakes his head quickly; that was part of it, but not what he really needed to know. "I meant-- I don't think I could stand to have his pity." The small amount he's seen already, that first night at Hellfire, Charles's clumsy _I'm sorry_ when he saw the marks on Erik's back. It was bad enough from a stranger. It would be worse knowing it comes from an ally. It would be unbearable from a lover.

Angel squeezes Erik's hand again, weaves her fingers through his so she can hold him a little tighter. "Charles believes in compassion," she says, "but he's never shown me pity. Not for that."

It's a small comfort-- maybe it'll be the same for Erik, maybe not-- but it is a comfort, all the same. Erik slips his hand out of hers. "I think I'll head back in. Good night."

"Good night."

*

The nightstands and dressers are secure, Erik's moved most of the heaviest metal objects into the bathroom and locked the door-- more responsible about it tonight than last night, it's a wonder he didn't damage anything yesterday-- but all his work is for nothing, it turns out. He can't sleep.

Stretching out his awareness of all the metal around him, as far as he can reach, and then drawing that awareness back inside him... sometimes that works. It's like progressive muscle relaxation, in a way; it often makes him drowsy and loose enough to drift off.

It might be working tonight, too, if he weren't stretching out for certain things in particular. The wristwatch Charles was wearing today (upstairs, hasn't moved in hours). The zipper on that brown velour overshirt of his (coiled into a shape that cannot possibly fit on a human body; it must be in a hamper or something, not on him). Last night's cufflinks (near the wristwatch). If there's anything else on him that's metal, Erik didn't manage to memorize it.

He notices the absence of movement in some places as much as the presence of it. In the study, nothing's moved for hours, either, and that includes the chessboard. Erik didn't have the foresight to memorize each individual piece, and although he can sense the gold and silver plating over iron pieces, from this distance the plating is so gossamer-thin that he can't quite distinguish the pieces from one another. They're all too close together. If they were solid gold and silver, of course he could tell, he could probably even play from here, but as it is...

As it is, he finds himself wandering down to the study to take a closer look at the chessboard, looking over the pieces and trying to determine if Charles has made a move. He doesn't think so-- surely Charles would have brought that knight out of peril, there's nothing on the board that would make its sacrifice worthwhile.

But looking over the board and trying to work out how all the pieces got where they are is much more pleasant than lying in bed failing to fall asleep, so thirty minutes later, he's still on the sofa in Charles's study, and he startles when he feels a brush of mental inquiry pass across his mind. It's followed by a soft tap at the study door-- this time Erik wasn't quick enough to have the door open before Charles could knock.

He does open it, though, from the couch. It's a slightly more delicate maneuver than he can manage in the bedroom-- the doors down here aren't reinforced with steel, pity-- but between the doorknob and the hinges, it's still easily accomplished.

Charles hesitates at the threshold of his own study, dressed in a t-shirt and track pants and trainers, stubble just beginning to darken his cheeks. His hair is dark from a recent shower; Erik can only imagine that, if he got close enough to Charles, he'd smell soap on his skin, fresh and clean, much the way he could this morning after they took Erik's collar off, just before they rushed downstairs to breakfast.

It disturbs Erik a little to be so disarmed by Charles, his thoughts so easily sent back to this morning, to the weight of that body on his, the taste and feel of Charles's lips. Though, to be fair, Charles's mouth seems even redder now than this morning, despite the fact that by the time they'd left his room, Charles's lips had been kiss- and bite-swollen, leaving Erik with enough fantasy material to last him the rest of his time here.

Maybe it would be better to back away before Erik gets caught up in these thoughts even further. He stands up, brushes his hands down the fronts of his thighs-- at least his body hasn't betrayed him completely, not yet. "You shouldn't have to knock. It's your room. I'll leave you to it, if you like."

Charles steps in, but he doesn't clear enough space around the door for Erik to get away-- not without getting close to him, intimately close. "Not at all. I came because I felt you here."

Erik's reactions to Charles are becoming ridiculous. He's seen Charles naked; it shouldn't affect him to see him now in a t-shirt, of all things, but Erik's a little mesmerized by his bare freckled forearms.

"I thought you weren't reading my mind," he says at last, drawing on sarcasm both to cover his own reactions and to press home the point from earlier this evening-- Charles's use of his power is so offhand that he doesn't even realize when he's going too far.

Charles doesn't rise to the bait. "I'm not," he says serenely. "But I can't block anyone so thoroughly that I can't feel their presence. I can't help but know where everyone is around me."

And that's the least of what he can do. As if Erik needed a reminder of just how powerful and useful Charles really is. He's been trying to be an ally, in his own overbearing way. _I'm on your side_ , he said, earlier. It might be worth bending a little to keep Charles on his side.

He walked away, earlier; it'll have to be him who makes the first move toward reconciliation now. He comes around to the back of the couch and leans back against it, not quite within reach but making a statement about where he stands. Still here, not leaving. Not yet. "We left things at an--" not an impasse, that implies this can't be breached-- "awkward point, before. I should apologize for that."

"Not really," Charles says. Is that a test? He's holding something back; Erik can't tell what. "I was more in the wrong, though I hope you understand my reasons."

Ah. There it is; Charles isn't really apologizing any more than Erik is. "I understand you've all been at this for a long time, and you're accustomed to things working a certain way. You've taken me in. It's hardly fair of me to ask you to change all your customs-- or even explain them." If this were Erik's place, he'd certainly expect everything to be on his own terms. If he had Charles's power, he doubts he'd even pretend not to use it all the time. _Two weeks. You can live like this for two weeks._

"Let me own up to the mistake, please?" Charles answers. "I hope in time you'll come to expect a little more of us." He comes nearer, looking down on the chessboard. "I'd meant to play another move. The day got away from me. But what we've done today as far as groundwork should clear our time for the next two weeks."

It's hard to believe Charles isn't reading his mind; the echoes of Erik's thoughts in the things Charles says are sometimes too close. Or maybe they're not, and the two of them are more in sync than Erik wants to admit. It would go some distance toward explaining the attraction, the electricity when they touch-- which might burn out, or might already be waning, but Erik doubts it. He's not brave enough to reach out, get his hands on Charles to test the theory. He knows where that will most likely lead-- more unnervingly, where he badly wants it to lead. Better to stay upright, better still to take himself out of range.

He could leave, he supposes. Push past Charles, bid him good night, head up to his room alone. It's what he ought to do. It would probably be the wisest course of action.

Of course, Charles has already admitted that he came here seeking Erik out. Erik's clearly not the only one making questionable decisions based on this attraction; if Charles were planning on treating Erik like a colleague and leaving well enough alone, he wouldn't be here.

For a few more seconds, Erik's rationality wars with his selfishness, the tantalizing sensation of desire. Stay or go; bid Charles goodnight or push a little and see what the evening has to offer.

He can defer this decision a few more minutes. He walks back around to the front of the couch, takes a seat once again; from there, he nods at Charles-- acknowledgment, thanks, understanding, and then he's looking back at the chessboard. "Ah, it is still your move. I couldn't quite recall, although I'd thought as much." He gestures at the bishop he moved earlier, levitating it briefly before setting it down again. "There was my last."

"I remember. It's been sitting idle so long…" Charles comes around to the center of the room, but rather than taking a seat in the armchair across the board, he sits back against the desk itself, pushing his legs out before him, flexing his feet, as if he's stretching a little.

"You were in the gym," Erik says, putting together a few implications, sure now that it's true.

"I woke up," Charles shrugs.

"And decided to sneak down and exercise. In the middle of the night."

"I didn't sneak," says Charles, a little more perturbed than the subject warrants. "I couldn't sleep."

Erik studies him. "Darwin and Raven both seemed to think you'd have to be dragged to the gym, but that's only when other people are there, isn't it."

He can't quite see why that would be the case. Charles certainly has nothing to be self-conscious about. He's not as muscular as Darwin or Erik himself, but his body is toned and attractive, his narrow arms corded and strong.

Charles is less guarded at the moment, though, and from his air of disquiet, Erik knows he's right. Whatever else Charles might be, he has weaknesses like anyone else; any number of them. Getting closer to him again will only give Erik more insight, and he needs that.

It's reassuring, too, when Charles dips his head, avoiding Erik's eyes-- and then he looks askance at Erik all the same and licks his lips. This pull goes both ways.

Leaving is seeming less and less appealing by the moment, and Erik finally thinks _fuck it_. There's no such thing as uncomplicated desire, and he won't pretend to himself that going to bed with Charles is a no-strings-attached affair, but if it's a choice between an empty bed upstairs and getting his hands on Charles again... God, this once he can choose something because he _wants_ it.

Erik turns his gaze into a more deliberate, appreciative once-over. "Let me know if you'd like to start over," he offers, and lets the pause breathe before nodding to the board. "The game, that is."

«May I?» Charles inquires, and nudges a knight very slightly using Erik's ability. A bold move, not starting over at all-- this is jumping directly to where they left off, to what Erik only allowed after a great deal of persuasion.

And yet it's no surprise, either. Testing limits, both of them; pushing at boundaries, finding out the hard way where the other will draw a line. No wonder Erik's so captivated by Charles; in many ways, they're very much alike.

"I wondered how long it would take you to ask." Erik relaxes on the sofa, draping his arm across the back of it, and grants permission with a nod.

"Did you," Charles says, and makes the move. He pushes his wet hair back and looks at Erik. "I wouldn't like you to think I go around borrowing people's powers as a rule."

Erik's oddly comforted by that, given what the use of Erik's power led to earlier. But he's less interested in taking comfort in Charles's words and far more interested in where this evening's headed. Not bothering at all to hide his interest, Erik smiles, "I think we've already established that I've broken a number of your rules."

Charles looks him over openly in return, finally, and his eyes on Erik's body feel as good as a hand stroking over him in all the right places. Erik revels in that, allows himself to enjoy it. Two weeks. He'll have this for two weeks, and then he'll move on. Maybe there are good reasons to slow down, even to avoid this attraction. Maybe it would be a distraction, if he were going to be here any longer. But it's perfectly clear that there's nothing he can do to defend his mind against Charles. And two weeks with someone who's made his body feel this good-- it's a luxury he might never have again.

"There's a rule about 'being careful' that's looking a little fragile right now," says Charles.

"Being careful sounds more like a guideline than a--" oh, why not; he doesn't need to be subtle anymore-- " _hard-and-fast_ rule."

It has the desired effect and then some; Charles looks away, smiling, and he draws his lower lip between his teeth, biting down lightly. It is very nearly irresistible; Erik imagines himself licking over that lip, licking until Charles lets the teeth go, and for a split-second, feeling the impression of Charles's teeth in that deliciously pink lower lip of his.

Charles doesn't react, not overtly-- maybe he didn't catch the image. But Erik's hot stare wouldn't take a telepath to interpret, and so it's no surprise that Charles's eyes are sharper on Erik when he looks back. He takes a deep breath and indicates the board. "It's your move."

It is, Erik supposes, and apparently he'll need to make a more forceful one than that. For the chess game, however, he flicks a hand at the board, countering Charles's knight with one of his own. After half an hour's rapt attention given to the board and all the different pieces, he knows them well enough he doesn't even need to look; at this stage, he _could_ play from upstairs.

He looks back to Charles, and when Charles's tongue swipes out again to trace a path over his lower lip, Erik can't think of any reason at all to be anywhere but here.

He reaches out to push another image forward. Once again, it's a thought of what Erik wants, what he'd be doing if he weren't holding back: coming off the couch, putting his hands on Charles's hips, pressing him slowly but inexorably against that desk. Charles might get a hand on Erik's chest, meaning to push him away, but that hand would quickly go sliding up, over Erik's shoulder, finally slipping into the hair at the nape of Erik's neck. Charles would scratch lazily up through Erik's hair, teasing him, and then he'd draw Erik forward and let Erik capture his mouth in a kiss, slow and deep, making every second count--

In reality, Charles leans back slightly, lips parting, and just as quickly rights himself. His look is more suspicious this time, as if certain Erik was trying to trap him. Erik can't blame him; it was meant to be a trap of sorts. Pity it didn't work.

Charles clears his throat; his voice is rough when he speaks. "I'm blocking you, but if you project thoughts at me, I can't help noticing."

Erik considers that. He could play this cat-and-mouse game all night, but he really doesn't want to. He wants-- he knows what he wants, and he's tired of pretending he doesn't.

"What thoughts would I have to project to let you know you're welcome to come in?" he asks, softly, his eyes on Charles's the whole time. As soon as Charles's eyes widen, he nods at the chessboard. "Your move."

Charles ignores the board. "I had a different impression from our discussion earlier."

"I said yes just a few minutes ago," Erik reminds him, gently lifting Charles's knight off the board and replacing it. "Don't start second-guessing me now."

"You've given me little enough to go on, it's difficult not to," Charles says. "I'd prefer not to find ourselves repeating this evening's confrontation."

"So would I." Erik struggles to stay composed; it would be easier to have Charles draw these thoughts out of him, but he can hardly criticize Charles for reading him too deeply and then turn around and complain that Charles isn't reading him enough. These are words that have to be said out loud. "I objected to how you exposed me to someone else," he says evenly. "Not to anything that happened between us."

"Not overtly. But by implication..."

Erik feels a light mental touch of inquiry and affirms it, and receives some of his own words from earlier, his tone and body language when he spoke of shame and sex, concern from Charles that this situation is adding more strain after what Erik has already survived.

All that consideration is strange-- perhaps it should be touching, and part of Erik isn't sorry that Charles apparently holds him in that sort of regard, but he can't help chafing at it regardless.

"Now you're trying to protect me. From what? You?" He shakes his head. "I'm more aware of the risks than ever, after today. And all the same--" «I want you. Tell me it's not the same for you, that it isn't killing you to wait when I've already invited you in.»

Charles breaks at that, pushing off the desk and coming directly to Erik. " _Yes._ Whatever you want, you only have to say," he tells Erik. «Or think it at me. You've already shown how good you are at that.» And then he's bending over Erik, hands braced on the back of the sofa, bracketing Erik in and making Erik tip back his head to meet him in a kiss.

Immediately, Erik reaches for him, sliding his hands up Charles's back and kissing him with all the pent-up energy that sent him out of bed in the first place. «You seem to have lost your--» "Mm-- yes, that's good--" «battle with 'being careful'...»

Charles straddles him and settles on his lap, a grin slowly growing on his face. "Funny, I don't feel as if I'm losing," he says, and he takes Erik's head in his hands and kisses him back with equal force.

They both try to take control of the kiss. The struggle for dominance is as thrilling as anything Erik's felt with Charles; it's a game, a conceit, Charles could win with the barest flicker of a thought, but the fact that he isn't doing so means he _likes_ the wrestle. Of course he does, he must-- how could a man like Charles feel this much for someone he didn't see as an equal? _If he sees anyone as an equal._

Erik growls, curls his hands around the tops of Charles's shoulders so he can tug Charles down onto his lap, rocking up against him at the same time. Right now a matchup between their gifts would leave Erik deeply disadvantaged; he snarls against Charles's mouth, feeling irked at the disparity, yes, but... in a way, it's a playful sort of irritation, all about sex and fucking and not really about who has the upper hand at all. «These damned clothes of yours, nothing to get hold of...» No metal anywhere on his body; no wonder he couldn't find Charles with his power earlier in the evening.

«Should I find something with metal snaps?» Charles is clearly teasing him now, giving him a picture of a shirt with metal buttons, and then a more fanciful thought of a metal chain mail shirt.

It should be absurd, even the fantasy image of Charles is grinning, but chain mail would be no laughing matter to Erik. He responds with an image of his own: Charles here in the study in a vest made out of thousands of tiny stainless-steel rings... Erik picking him up easily, lifting him completely off the ground, and slamming Charles against the back wall, pinning him there.

There are so many things Erik could do with him if he had Charles pinned against a wall with nothing but his power, even cufflinks would be enough, and the desires are too sharp and quick to even coalesce into full-out fantasies. They're flashes of _want_ , pure and brutal: Charles's legs around Erik's waist, Erik's mouth on Charles's cock, Charles's chin tilted up as Erik puts his hand on Charles's throat, _all of it, anything, now._

Instead of saying that, Erik opens his mouth further, presses his tongue hard into Charles's mouth and catches the hair at the back of Charles's head, holding him still. «Don't tempt me.»

Charles stops striving for control of the kiss, yielding with a low longing noise from deep in his throat. Erik nearly growls, _does_ growl when Charles sends another thought his way: «You think that's not just as tempting for me?»

Now the desire's too much; Erik lets Charles's hair go and curves his hand around the front of Charles's throat. It's not a threat, not this time, not the way it was only moments ago with the thought of Charles trapped against the wall burning through his mind: he's just aching to touch, to run his fingers over the places he scraped red and raw with his stubble this morning.

 _Temptation._ Can Charles really be half as tempted by Erik and all the things he wants, all the things he can do, as Erik is by Charles?

«I don't know. I don't know what you want out of me.» Erik's fingers flex over soft skin, thinking about truth, trust, all the things he shouldn't be thinking and doesn't have time to hide. Two weeks: he's known Charles barely twenty-four hours, and two weeks is an eternity compared to that, but still Erik's haunted by the fact that their time is already ticking to its close. He draws a thought forward, puts it out where Charles can hear it. «I don't know what you want out of me, and _I don't care_.»

Charles sits back just far enough to pull his t-shirt off. «Don't you? That's easy to say in the moment. But I want more than the moment.»

 _There_ , damn it, finally-- all that bare skin exposed where Erik can see it, touch it. He runs both hands up Charles's chest, bending forward to lick at the base of his throat. And then there are Charles's thoughts, as exposed as his body, as much a risk as Erik's thoughts were.

The temptation to offer more than the moment is there, to at least tell Charles he'll have Erik for these two weeks-- longer than Erik's ever given anyone else by choice-- but if that's not what Charles is after, better not to tell him anything that might feel like a lie later. «No promises.» Aloud he says, "You know why I'm here."

Throwing his head back, Charles digs his fingers into Erik's shoulders. «Then for now… you sent me any number of ideas this morning,» flashing them all back into Erik's mind. «And I have a few of my own.» Charles sends the image of Erik pinning him against the far wall, with his body instead of a metal shirt and his power... or bending him over the desk... or rubbing off against each other right here on the couch. "So…?"

«Yes, damn it.» Erik groans aloud, hands moving down Charles's body to cup his ass, so sweet and tight in his grasp. It shouldn't be difficult, choosing something rather than simply offering and enjoying what Charles decides to take from him, but Erik's out of practice with making those sorts of choices-- if he was ever in practice to begin with. «Yes.» He gets an arm around Charles's back and twists them both, pressing Charles onto the couch, following and kissing his chest, leaving rough bites across his skin.

Even now, from underneath him, Charles emanates a sense of triumph at getting Erik to express a desire, though it's impossible that Charles doesn't know how badly, how desperately Erik wants him. «Good, that's so good…» Charles tugs at Erik's shirt eagerly, rolling it up off him. «I want to feel you, I want your hands on me, that's all I want right now.»

Erik cooperates readily, tossing his shirt aside, but climbs off Charles just enough to get Charles's shoes off, drag those track pants off Charles along with his underwear. "I want a hell of a lot more than my hands on you." He spans all the way up Charles's body, from his ankles to his hips, from hips up and over his chest, from his shoulders to his wrists, holding his wrists and flattening his body all over Charles's. «The way I want you-- it's incredible, I don't--» And his mind flares out in panic, warning; _dear God, don't tell him that, don't tell him you don't remember ever wanting someone this way before, are you crazy?_

But from Charles he gets nothing but reassurance and desire, a pulse of hunger that flares in Charles when Erik pins his wrists down, the thrill of Erik taking. «More, will you-- if you won't let me touch you, you have to give me more, _please._ »

Thrusting up hard, Erik can't help but be aware he's dragging denim against Charles's bare cock, but he's desperate and wanting, almost mindless already; he comes up and kisses Charles again, hot and deep, goading him. «More, you want more? Take it from me.»

Underneath him, Charles gasps, and Erik bares his teeth in triumph, sure now that the desire he feels for Charles-- reckless, impatient, unrelenting-- is matched on every level. Erik feels a whisper of thought somewhere deep in his mind, as if Charles is making sure Erik wants what he's asking for-- but he does. The idea thrills him as much as it frightens him: Charles using all that incredible, unstoppable power on _him_ , not to change him or scare him or force him into anything against his will but to _please_ him, please both of them.

The pause is only momentary, just long enough to receive that confirmation and hear a near-desperate « _Yes_ » from Charles, and then Erik feels his body lifting up, coming off Charles so he can strip his jeans off-- only these aren't the quick, efficient motions Erik would use to undress. Instead, his hands caress his body as he works the fabric down, fingers spread wide, palms curving sensually over his ass and then the strong muscles of his thighs.

When his jeans are down and off and his boots and socks are settled by the side of the couch as well, he comes up to standing, hands gliding from his ankles to the backs of his knees. It occurs to him that he might be able to tickle himself this way; it's as if the hands touching him are and aren't his own, at the same time. But Charles lets that thought slide by without experimenting with it, and moves Erik's hands to his thighs, teasing past his erection without really touching it.

Charles's eyes are bright with lust, a feeling that must surely be reflected in Erik's warm gaze. Charles himself is flushed with more than just this evening's workout and shower, and as Erik watches, Charles licks his lips and draws his lower lip between his teeth again, less shy and more anticipatory. Erik has enough control over the smaller muscles of his face to smile, and the thought that Charles left him that freedom because he _wants_ to see Erik smile makes Erik a little weak with pleasure and desire, want blending in against want the way it's done since the two of them first met.

«You wanted me showing off?» Erik thinks. «You could have said.» A flicker of regret passes over him as soon as the words are out of his mind, his words from last night sharp in his mind now: _so you come by your reputation as a voyeur honestly_. But it truly isn't what he meant, and with Charles twined into his mind, Charles must know that. The freedom of showing off for someone Erik _chooses_ to sleep with makes the action delicious, compelling even without Charles's control forcing Erik's hand. He tries to press that thought into Charles's mind, the pleasure of all this, the way he wants every bit of it. «I like it,» he sends, «I like the way you watch me. You only had to say.»

«Consider it said,» Charles sends, eyes locked on him. «You're gorgeous, it's exciting to watch you even when you're not showing off. Come back,» and Erik is moving again under no compunction of his own, his body covering Charles, his head tilting to just the right angle as Charles kisses him and runs his hands down Erik's back, groping his ass.

«Yes--» As soon as Erik has the urge to move for himself, Charles releases him, and Erik wastes no time, thrusts forward again, reaches down and curls his hand around both their cocks, stroking them together. «Oh, yes, that's better--» he laughs softly, twisting his face to the side so he can nuzzle the side of Charles's neck, «--thank you for that.»

Charles sends a little burst of incredulous joy, that same startled reaction as this morning, bordering on disbelief that Erik could want that, could be grateful for it. Erik's beginning to accept his lust for Charles's gifts, his own disbelief fading in the face of how hard it gets him. It's exciting to surprise Charles that way, though; maybe it's because Erik wonders if anything can truly catch him off-guard.

«My pleasure,» Charles grabs the back of the sofa with one hand for leverage and shoves up to push into Erik's grip, «really!»

 _His_ pleasure. Erik almost laughs. He bites softly at Charles's neck, and then a little harder, and harder still. He should be more careful, he knows, but the idea of replacing this morning's beard burn with a more serious mark does appeal. «If you think I'm not taking every ounce of pleasure from you I can get...» He slows his strokes down, even eases his grip, smiling against the side of Charles's neck.

Charles makes a soft, disappointed noise, trying to push up against Erik's hand. "Oh..." «Am I meant to take you over again, then?» Erik's a little surprised that he's asking instead of simply taking, but then Erik's slower pace isn't a direct challenge, not quite overt enough to invite the thrilling intrusion. Charles makes another soft, muffled sound, his breath heated against Erik's shoulder. «Then again, this feels fantastic. And I suppose if I did direct you, I wouldn't really want to waste it rushing. You're just, you just…» So many words strung together in a row, despite what Erik's doing to him; Erik gives a particularly wicked twist of his hand, and Charles loses the thread, even his thoughts jangling into hot wordless appeals for more.

Bringing his mouth up to Charles's again, Erik kisses him slowly this time, matching his pace to the rhythm he's set with his hand. «I'm just teasing you, is that what you were going to say? Teasing both of us.»

It's flattering, the way Charles's breath has gone rough with need; he pants steadily as he tries to use his voice to speak instead of his mind. "Driving me crazy, I was going to say, oh, God." Charles's eyes are still on Erik's when Charles draws his own hand to his mouth, and they stay on Erik as he licks his palm. At first, it seems as though he only means to wet it, the most utilitarian of reasons for that slow solid drag of tongue against skin, but Erik's eyes go hot and dark immediately, his grip on them tightens, and Charles slows down. His tongue teases at his palm, at the web of his hand between thumb and fingers, and he draws two fingers into his mouth, his lips tight around them.

Now it's Erik who's panting. Watching Charles's fingers slide back and forth between his lips, it's impossible not to think of his cock there, pressing into Charles's mouth, forcing Charles to stretch his lips wide; it's even more difficult not to think of Charles's fingers inside him, opening him up the way they did last night. Just as Erik's beginning to think he could go on watching this display for as long as Charles is cruel and kind enough to offer it, Charles reaches down between them, placing his slick hand alongside Erik's, pressing their cocks together in a tighter, more insistent clasp.

And yet for all the pleasure that brings, Erik's caught up in the last image he had in mind, the memory of Charles's fingers slipping into him. It would be different this time, sharper, Erik isn't prepped for it tonight-- but he could take it, if Charles were willing to give it. He puts his teeth together and snarls lightly at Charles. «Fuck. If I had your power-- that's not where I want your hand.»

Charles answers back with a slight sensation of inquiry, brushed against Erik's thoughts, and so Erik responds with a fast mental image: Charles working his fingers into Erik's ass while Erik pins Charles down and ruts against him until they're both coming. But the logistics are getting in the way; Erik can already tell they won't have enough room where they are.

«Couch. Not big enough. Get down here, come here--» He sends Charles another image, this time seeking permission as much as offering an option: in the image, he pulls Charles down to the floor, then re-enacts this position, giving Charles room enough to reach behind him and drive his fingers into Erik's ass. Erik arches along with the self he's projecting into the fantasy, he _wants_ this, but he hesitates, staying open for a counter-offer.

The image he receives in return is similar but not quite the same, Charles heaving them both bodily onto the floor right away-- only in Charles's version, Charles falls heavily on top of Erik when they land, a hint of sly amusement carried with the image. «But yes, let's move-- there, or--» His images rush into Erik-- the wall, the desk, any reasonable surface (and some less-than-reasonable ones). Erik catches a frustrated flash of _why isn't there a bed in here_ and almost laughs; as many bedrooms as there are in this place, and Charles wants a bed in his study, too.

Well, Erik can't fault Charles for being greedy and impatient; he's feeling much the same. He rejects the wall and the desk for exactly that reason-- «the floor's closest, come with me--» and this time he really does drag Charles off the couch and onto the floor. In concession to Charles's mental image, though, he does it by rolling over, pulling Charles on top of him, revelling in the weight and impact against his body, the tangle of Charles's limbs with his own.

Erik may end up with some rug burn from this, but he likes that idea; getting to carry around little bruises and raw spots from time spent with Charles feels _right_ somehow. Before he goes, he'll have to ask for something lasting, something he'll get to carry with him for a week or more before it's faded off completely.

But no, he's not going to think about that now, not when Charles is crouching over him and taking advantage of the change in position to touch, caress, lick, bite, kiss. He starts with Erik's collarbone, licking there, and then his mouth is at Erik's shoulder, and his teeth sink in as Erik gasps and writhes underneath him. Charles gets a thigh between Erik's legs and shoves against him, and Erik rocks up desperately, giving in to this sensation with full abandon. If he's ever been so wanton, so open about the way lust and desire have become the only things that matter to him, it wasn't like this.

Charles's thoughts wash into Erik, so familiar now; it's hard to remember that only two days ago he'd never felt Charles's presence in his mind. «We're going to have to roll over one more time for you to get what you want-- I want--»

What he wants, what they both want-- Erik's entire body flushes and heats, and he babbles out a mental «Yes, yes, oh God, yes,» as he rolls Charles over, pinning Charles beneath him. Charles grins up at him and brings his hand to his mouth again, sliding two fingers between his lips; Erik is entranced by the motion, so captivated by the way Charles's mouth conforms to the invasion of those fingers that he can't look away. He can't even move.

Charles's fingers move provocatively in and out of his mouth, gleaming and wet, and Charles lifts his eyebrows, sending another thought at Erik. «You can go back to taking care of the rest, yes? You don't need a push?»

The rest, yes, Erik was getting to that, but suddenly it's urgent, he's doing it _right now_ , he's-- oh, yes, a little prod from Charles, his hand's not moving entirely of its own accord. He wraps his hand around them, and the grip's a bit tighter than he might have done on his own, but this feels like his own desires, amplified, not just being used at Charles's leisure. Maybe there's a difference between pushing someone to do something unexpected and pushing them to do what they already want. God knows Erik wants all of this; it would be almost impossible for Charles to ask something of him that Erik doesn't want, at least when it comes to sex.

He strokes them both, earning a soft moan from Charles. «I don't need to be pushed. But if you want to...» And then he's lost it, too overcome by the sight of Charles's fingers slipping between his lips to hold still or think of anything else at all. «God, your mouth...»

He bends his head down and licks across Charles's mouth, fingers and all, and Charles's eyes widen as another pulse of desire slams through both of them. He takes his fingers out of his mouth so he can kiss Erik, messy, open, demanding and strong. He hooks an arm around Erik's neck and moves his hips, encouraging a faster rhythm from Erik's hand. Erik's happy to oblige, even happier to kiss and be kissed like this, and he groans with satisfaction when it all draws a series of elated thoughts out of Charles-- «Yes, like that, Erik, yes.»

An instant later, Charles tears himself away and goes up on his elbow to reach back and grab for Erik again, slipping damp fingers between his cheeks and against his ass. His fingers aren't really wet enough, but Charles is insistent, with every right in the world to be; he can read Erik's thoughts, he can sense Erik's desperate longing for this, he can tell that Erik doesn't need it to be slick and easy.

For a few moments, Erik gasps, holding still, unable to keep up with all the things he wants, all the things he's being offered. He spreads his legs, greedy for the feel of Charles's fingers inside him, and then he gets a hand into Charles's hair, pinning his head down so he can kiss Charles with the kind of deep concentration Charles deserves. His other hand is still between them, and Erik knows the rhythm's gone erratic and sloppy, but it almost doesn't matter for all Charles is thrusting against him. Charles is barely keeping his fingers in place, deep in Erik's ass, but the tangle of sensations is overwhelming all the same.

Charles's thoughts are as wild and incomprehensible as Erik's, no words now, just excited fragments of emotion and sensation. Beneath Erik, Charles is groaning, gasping, moaning into Erik's mouth, and the kisses go on and on, as if they're becoming each other's lifelines and this kiss is more important than remembering to breathe.

Erik pulls words together-- «So good, you're so good, this feels--» but they're insufficient, there's no way to express what he's feeling with something as simplistic as language. His hand speeds on their cocks as he drags his mouth away from Charles's, and he rests his forehead on Charles's, as open to Charles's mind as he's ever been. No more secrets. No hiding. If this affair lasts through the night or the week or the full two weeks Erik's here, it will all be worth it, all of what's brought him here will have been worth it.

Desperation makes him greedy; he's so close, his whole body wracked with need-- it seems impossible that only last night Charles was touching him for the first time, that only this morning he was guiding Charles through the metal of his collar and feeling it drop away from his throat.

He growls softly, pushing back against Charles's fingers, and then he's got words for Charles again: «I want to-- I want to feel you-- get me messy, give me something to clean off you--» The image of Charles coming all over both of them, of Erik crawling down Charles's body to lick it up, is so arousing that Erik could almost come from the thought alone--

But it isn't Erik whose body jerks and arches. Charles's eyes fly open, wide and startled, and he gasps out a strangled noise, his cock pulsing in Erik's hand as he comes, the slick rush of fluid hot against the inside of Erik's wrist. Erik wants to smear himself with it, rub his face against Charles's stomach and come away filthy with it. He holds still, though, dropping his head to rest against Charles's shoulder, biting again. It's not at the forefront of his mind to mark Charles when he's like this, gutted from pleasure, but he can't say he dislikes the idea, either-- no, he can't claim that, not when the idea of leaving his mark on Charles is driving him up to the edge and past it, his own cock hard nearly to the point of pain, and his teeth dig in all the harder in the moments before he comes. And then he's there, his own slick heat adding to the mess between them as he moans brokenly against Charles's shoulder.

Charles's breath is still heaving as Erik comes down from it, and he gets both arms around Erik's shoulders and hangs on to him. Erik could lose himself utterly in that feeling; this closeness, this affection and warmth... he's known so little of it. It isn't weakness that leads him to cling to Charles in return, he hopes; he just... needs this, just for now, just for a little while.

After a moment, Charles takes a deep breath and says, out loud, "You _surprised_ me."

He sounds genuinely taken aback, and Erik manages a soft huff of a laugh in response. "I don't," he begins, but his voice is ragged, and it seems absurd to be speaking out loud at all; it's getting further away from Charles instead of closer, putting breath and the capacity for prevarication between them. Right now, he doesn't want that. «I don't think I have to ask whether it was a good surprise.»

Instantly, perhaps even eagerly, Charles goes back to their mind-to-mind communication as well. «Amazing, it's just… I was reading you and still, you surprised me. That's... it's strange.»

Both of Charles's hands roam up and down Erik's back, and when Erik draws away enough to look down at Charles, Charles is looking up at him wonderingly. _You surprised me,_ he said, not for the first time, and Erik wonders how many people in Charles's life have ever surprised him at all.

He bends his head down again and kisses Charles's chin, and then leaves a soft line of kisses over his face until he reaches the side of Charles's neck again. Maybe he can offer another surprise, if his desires haven't started to become too predictable. «Then let me...»

He sends the image again, much like the one from before: Erik crawling down Charles's body, his face wet with their mingled seed as he licks up the taste of the two of them, together. Charles shifts beneath him, gasping already, but Erik has more to offer than that.

He nuzzles Charles's shoulder, just where his mark is beginning to darken. «Or, if you'd rather... make me.» His cheeks heat a little more from the idea, and he sends those sensations along, too: the want, the desire to be pressed into service, moved with Charles's mind the way he could use his own power or strength to move Charles's body.

And like last time-- like every time, Erik's realizing-- it makes Charles's eyes widen, the already vivid blue becoming brighter as Charles stares at him. He reaches up, catches Erik's face in his hands, and kisses him. This kiss isn't desperate so much as it's fierce in a wholly different way, and yet equally powerful, equally moving. Erik kisses back, wanting to match that intensity. It's easy to be swept away by the torrent of gratitude and affection and awe Charles sends out, easy to focus on all the ways that feels good instead of all the ways it should scare him. Resisting Charles would be like resisting gravity or air or sunlight. The attempt itself would be ludicrous-- and what if he succeeded?

«I want you to,» Erik says, pressing the idea into Charles's mind as he presses Charles's body against the rug beneath them. «Do you understand that? I want you to. You can.»

And after one more soft kiss, Erik's moving and stretching, pressing himself upward and suspending himself above Charles's body. It's all at Charles's impetus, all because Charles wants him there, but Erik can't argue with the view. Charles looks exhausted, debauched, his hair damp and tangled, his lips swollen and red, but he also looks delighted, and as Erik finds himself crawling down Charles's body, he can't help feeling a sense of accomplishment: _I made you look like that. I made you feel this way_.

He leaves kisses on Charles's body as he goes-- the placement feels random, small touches scattered as a way to keep them connected in body as well as mind, but maybe it isn't; maybe these are all the places Charles most wants to be touched. Erik memorizes them, bears it all in mind as his tongue goes sliding down Charles's hip, curling over a streak that might have been left by either one of them. If it were up to him, he'd close his eyes now, focus on the taste and feel of Charles under his tongue, but this is beautiful, too-- Charles guiding him to clean the leftover traces of sex off their skin, Charles's grasp on him tight and impossible to break.

«You like it,» Charles sends, his thoughts hazy with astonishment. «That's-- you-- Erik…»

It's not in him to deny it. Not now, not after hearing that. He shares the draw Charles's power has on him, so few people he's known having been so fully powered, and the way the attraction between them makes opening himself feel-- if not safe, then worth the risk. He shares the excitement he feels when he's under Charles's power, because it's by choice and not by force; he shows Charles the arousal stirred up in him from being taken over by someone whose strength matches his own.

«All of it,» he thinks, _you like it_ seeming like such a pale shadow of what Charles's power does to him. «Yes. I do.»

Charles sits up and brings Erik up to meet him, and Erik's mouth is on Charles's before he even realizes where he's meant to go. Charles kisses him, controlling even that-- he has Erik rest his tongue on his lower lip so Charles can lick the taste of them both out of Erik's mouth. Erik shivers lightly-- of all the things that Charles has done to him, this is the first to leave him feeling vulnerable in quite this way. But before it's too much to bear, Charles is pulling away again.

"I've never met anyone like you," he says softly, and then he laughs, butting his head against Erik's shoulder. "In so many ways."

The grip Charles has on Erik is lighter now, and Erik tugs at it gently, mind and body pushing to be set free. Charles notices, and suddenly Erik can move on his own power again, which he uses to wrap an arm around Charles's shoulders and pull him back down to the floor. They end up on their backs, side by side, Erik's shoulder pressed warmly against Charles's. «I've never known anyone like you, either,» Erik thinks-- such an enormous understatement.

And yet Charles is still smiling brightly, moving on from that announcement as if it's something that came easily to him. He glances up at the chessboard and nudges his head against Erik's, almost conspiratorially. «I was so sure we'd knock into it and send the pieces flying, but look, everything in its right place. Nearly.» He reaches down, scratches lightly along the front of Erik's thigh, and then there's a sensation of _lift_ , Erik's power channeled through him from Charles in order to move one of the silver-plated pieces, a pawn. "There."

He sounds so satisfied, and yet really it's the least of Erik's gifts. Erik can't help grinning at Charles's obvious exhilaration. "I should bring you along to move something heavy," he offers softly. "You'd love that." He advances one of the gold-plated pawns, the one facing Charles's; they meet in the center.

"I _would_ love that," Charles breathes, and even if Erik can't read the thoughts that go along with it, he can hear the sincerity in Charles's tone. "I'm so looking forward to training with you." The feeling of lift and motion comes to Erik again as Charles moves his rook, and Charles squirms a little closer to Erik on the floor. "You haven't asked yet if I'm cheating at chess," he murmurs, looking over at him.

After that move with the rook, Erik doesn't really have to, but he can't resist the opportunity to remind Charles. "I'm relying on my ability to surprise you," he says, with an ear-to-ear grin.

The smile Charles returns is incredible-- he ducks his head almost shyly, and there he goes again, biting his lower lip; someday, possibly someday soon, Erik won't be able to watch him doing that without reaching out and getting his mouth on Charles's, his own teeth on Charles's lip. Fortunately, he has _some_ restraint, even when Charles tells him, "Then I am in trouble."

It's all so pleasant, this banter, but somehow the words sink in anyway, despite every attempt Erik's making now to ward them off. _I am in trouble._ He thinks back to this morning-- could it really have been just this morning?-- and how he thought to himself, _I am really superbly fucked_ , and it's the same concept, but Charles doesn't look as though he feels the same way Erik did this morning. Not at all.

He reaches out and touches the mark he left on Charles's shoulder. It might not be the first time he's ever left a bruise on a partner during sex, but it's the first time he did so in order to stake a claim. Charles is any number of first times for Erik; he's certainly the first person Erik's ever seen up close who actually looks at Erik like-- Erik's not sure what those looks are, really. The teasing looks, the shy looks-- these are the sorts of expressions he expects to see actors faking in commercials advertising instant coffee. But there doesn't seem to be anything false about Charles now, not when he's blissful and radiant from sex.

"Does it worry you?" Erik asks, still stroking the bruise on Charles's shoulder.

Charles looks up at Erik, meeting his eyes. He's still smiling, still unguarded and beautiful. There are times it almost hurts to look at him, and yet Erik can't stop himself.

"Not at all," Charles tells him. Somehow, Erik believes him, but he can't shake the slight swell of foreboding that's still lingering. He probably shouldn't even be trying; that sense of tension and nervousness would have saved him a lot of pain if he'd been listening to it years ago.

He runs his fingertips down Charles's shoulder, all the way down his arm, not quite willing to give up touching Charles just yet-- even though the evening's drawing to a close. "It's gotten late. I shouldn't keep you."

For a moment, Charles holds Erik's gaze, smiling at him. Very softly, he asks, "No?"

It's enough to make Erik look away, feeling flushed from cheeks to chest; he glances around the room, wondering where all his clothes have gone. Charles does the same, separating one shirt from another, gathering up his underwear and track pants, laying Erik's jeans across the couch.

"It is late," Charles admits as his shirt goes on, "and I've just been admonishing everyone else about getting enough rest..."

Pulling on his clothes, Erik nods. "Yes. I slept better last night than I have in a long time. After this--" he pauses, making sure to look up at Charles, he doesn't want this to come off badly. He tries a smile, and Charles matches it. "I imagine I'll sleep even better." He still won't unpack his room until morning, but he does feel more relaxed than he has in quite some time. "I'll see you at breakfast?"

Charles has finished dressing, too, and he comes around the other side of the couch to the door; Erik follows him. "Til then," Charles agrees-- but instead of opening the door and leaving, he reaches up, one arm coming around Erik's neck and drawing him down. Erik doesn't try to resist; he slides his hands onto Charles's hips as Charles kisses him. By the time Charles pulls away, Erik can't help but be a little wistful; in another place, at another time, maybe this wouldn't be the end of their evening.

"Good night," Charles says quietly, and when Erik nods, Charles slips out the door.

Erik's about to do the same, but he pauses for a moment to look behind him. He smiles a little at the mess they've made-- the couch has moved, slightly, and he tugs it back into its original position and fluffs the pillows. The rug, fortunately, is patterned enough to hide a multitude of sins, and it looks as though Charles may have blotted up a bit of their particular sin while getting dressed.

His eyes linger on the chessboard for a moment, as he stands at the door. It's his move, again, and the board seems simultaneously open to possibility and covered in potential threats.

He slides a bishop across the board, lifting Charles's last-moved rook and setting it aside, captured. He might very well sleep better tonight than last night; he heads back up to his room to find out.


End file.
